The Winchester's New Protege
by UnderTheRedHood
Summary: Sam and Dean are finishing a case in Gotham when they come across a certain deceased Robin climbing out of his grave. As it turns out, Jason makes one hell of a hunter. But, things get complicated when Jason takes a case in Gotham. Alone. Throw a couple of run ins with some familiar faces and Jason's just about ready to throw in the towel. And then he gets attacked.
1. the miraculous resurrection of jasontodd

"Relax, Dean," Sam said. "Once we wrap this case up we can leave."

"I know," Dean mumbled, wrapping his leather jacket around himself tighter in an attempt to block out the icy winds passing through the graveyard. "Damned city's still giving me the creeps, though."

Sam chuckled quietly. "Gotham is a _madhouse_ ," he agreed. "I heard there's some murderous clown that runs around the city." Sam shuddered at the thought.

"Seriously?" Dean's voice was halfway between incredulous and amused. "I thought a guy in a bat costume was as weird as this place got."

"Me too," Sam replied. "He goes by the Joker or something." Sam's tone suddenly became dark and grim. "He killed the bat's son a couple of months back. Robin, I think his name was. The poor kid never even stood a chance. Psycho had him chained up in a warehouse for weeks and then blew him up."

"Damn..." Dean sighed. "What kind of a parent would let their kid do something like that? Going out there against people like _that_."

Sam looked like he was going to cut in.

"I know dad wasn't perfect," Dean began, "but at least he waited until we were older before throwing us into the deep end. Especially not against that. People are just..." He trailed off, gesturing as he looked for the right word. "Give me a demon or a vamp any day. The monsters, I get. There's always a method to their madness, y'know a reason, but people always make me wonder if the things we hunt are the monsters."

Sam wasn't sure Dean was still talking about the Joker.

There was a loud scream and they both immediately sprinted to its source.

A young boy, couldn't have been any older than 14, was clawing himself out of a distraught grave. He was halfway out, and broken streaks of tears and blood glistened on his face in the pale torchlight. Dean grabbed under the boy's arms and Sam began to dig out his legs.

They tore him free and he stopped struggling, lying limply in Dean's arms, shaking as muted sobs racked his tiny frame. Dean wrapped his arms around the child tighter, in an attempt to comfort him. He rested his chin on the top of the boy's head and rocked back and forth gently. "What do I do?" he mouthed at Sam.

"Take him to the motel," Sam answered firmly. "Call Cas and see if he knows what the hell is going on."

"What about the case?"

"I can handle it," Sam said and Dean hesitated. "Trust me. Go."

Dean murmured softly to the boy. "I'm gonna take you somewhere safe. 'Kay?"

After the boy nodded weakly, Dean picked him up carefully and began weaving in and out of the headstones; the path to the Impala lit by the torch held securely between his teeth.

The kid had fallen asleep the second that Dean had put him in the back of the Impala. Honestly, Dean couldn't really blame him; he knew just how exhausting digging your way out of a grave was. But it left him with one small dilemma.

 _How the hell was he meant to get the kid inside without waking him?_

Well, for one, moving the boy in the wrong way elicited a pained groan or gasp. He was probably littered with cuts and bruises and, hell, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the kid had a broken bone or two. He looked like it, probably died in a car crash or something.

The boy wasn't heavy in the slightest, so that was really an issue. Dean managed to painstakingly manoeuvre him out of the car and was honestly worried by how bony the kid felt through his suit. He was also very much aware of the fact that the kid may or may not turn out to be a demon or vampire or _something_ that could probably rip him to shreds at any moment.

Dean got a face full of the boy's mess of black hair when he nearly dropped his keys, managing to catch them before they hit the ground. He carefully peeled off the boy's blazer before laying him down on the couch.

Dean finally got a better look at the boy and he immediately noticed two things:

He was absolutely _tiny._ Barely 5 foot and maybe, _maybe_ 100 pounds.

His skin was riddled with burns and bruises and there was definitely no doubt about broken bones anymore. There was a thin, crooked 'J' carved into the sallow flesh of the boy's left cheek. It was faded and probably a superficial scar, but Dean couldn't help but flinch at the sight of it.

The boy shifted slightly in his sleep and Dean sighed; he couldn't call Cas without waking the kid up. He stepped outside the motel room, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Cas?" he whispered. "Cas? I need your help."

Almost immediately, there was the all-too comforting fluttering of wings behind him, followed by a gravelly, "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean returned, spinning on his heels.

"What do you need my help with?" Cas asked. Dean thought of how to explain the situation without sounding completely and utterly insane.

"We found a kid in a graveyard." Dean winced at his own words. _Well, it could have been worse._

Cas cocked his head to the side slightly. "I don't understand why that requires my help. Surely, you should give the child to the proper authorities."

Dean sighed, deciding to just _show_ Cas instead, leading him into the motel room and pointing at the child curled up on the couch. "We found him digging himself out of a grave. I think someone made a deal."

"Oh." Cas pondered over this, like he was contemplating what he should do with his information. After a moment, he stepped forward, reaching out towards the boy. Dean stopped him.

"Don't wake him up. He's been through enough."

"I can assure you, Dean," Cas said, somewhat haughtily. "I am more than capable of not waking the child."

He rested a hand on the boy's forehead, frowning slightly. Dean watched as the boy began to shake slightly before returning to his quiet slumber. "What is it?"

"The child is radiating power," Cas muttered, turning to face Dean. "You said this child was resurrected?"

"I think? Maybe? I don't know. Is he-?"

"Whatever brought this child back was certainly not a demon..." Cas stared contemplatively at the boy. "He doesn't pose any of a threat."

Dean relaxed, and then Cas spoke again, "However, I'm afraid the boy might not live for long."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Besides from the physical injuries," Cas said, sounding oddly calm. "The power that brought him back is fading. I don't know whether he'll survive when it's completely gone."

"Well, what do we do?" Dean exclaimed. "We can't just let him die. There has to be something we can do."

Cas thought for a moment. "There is one option," he began. "But it's incredibly dangerous."

"What is it?"

"Ra's Al Ghul."

"Razza-what?"

"Ra's Al Ghul," Cas repeated. "He is in possession of the last Lazarus Pit in existence."

"Which is?" Dean prompted.

"It can heal any injury and resurrect the dead."

"What's the catch?" There was _always_ a price to pay when bringing someone back. Dean, himself, sold his soul to bring back his own brother.

"It has the potential to drive anyone exposed insane." _There it was_. Dean wasn't in any position to decide whether the kid died again or whether he should risk the kid's sanity. He looked down at the boy, his small chest rising with shallow, wheezy breaths, and felt a pang in his chest.

"Great," Dean muttered bitterly. "Just great. Well, we've gotta try, haven't we?"

Cas nodded. "I need to ask Al Ghul for permission to use the Pit. I will return to collect the boy."

He ran a hand through the boy's hair before disappearing. Dean sighed, going over to the cabinets and pouring himself a drink. He was completely wrapped up with just _everything_ , he didn't even know the kid's _name_ and he was already worrying about him. Hell, the kid had been conscious for literally two minutes. He was still mulling over whether letting the kid take a dip in the crazy water was really the best idea, and he hadn't noticed Sam letting himself in. Sam cleared his throat and he jumped.

"Whoa," Sam exclaimed, holding his hands up. "It's just me."

Dean combed a hand through his hair, sighing. "Sorry, I was just..." He gestured to his drink. Sam nodded in understanding.

"I was think about doing some research about the kid," Sam said, eyeing Dean's reaction. There wasn't any. In fact, Dean hadn't looked up from the bottom of his glass. "See what I can find. But I think I can handle it. How about you go get some sleep?"

Dean didn't even try to argue, like he normally would, and he headed straight to his room. Though before he turned to leave: "Cas stopped by a second ago and said the kid wasn't a monster and something about a Lazarus Pit and some guy named Ra's Al Ghul. You think you could try to find something on that?"

Sam nodded, and Dean stopped to check on the kid before going into his room. He was out before his head hit the pillow. Sam stared at after Dean for a moment before sitting down at the two-person coffee table with his laptop out in front of him. He typed the name that had been on the kid's headstone, 'Jason Todd' into the search engine. Unsurprisingly, there weren't many results. Most were random profiles or unrelated ads. One in particular caught his eye.

 _LATEST ADDITION TO THE WAYNE FAMILY_

It was a short article from the _Gotham Gossip_ , Sam grimaced at the name. It was dated around 4 years ago.

'Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has brought another orphan under his wing. Nine-year-old Jason Todd was officially adopted by Bruce early this week, shortly followed by the adoption of Bruce's oldest son, Dick Grayson.'

There was a photo of Jason and Bruce below the text. Sam couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he looked so out of place in this oversized hoodie and an irritated sneer. Bruce was shielding him from the hordes of press hounds with one hand and waving the other out at the camera, a comfortable smile plastered across his face.

They looked so similar and yet so different at the same time. Bruce's jet-black hair immaculately styled and Jason's a mess of raven curls. Bruce's eyes a pristine, pale shade of blue that practically reflected every camera flash and Jason's a vibrant blue, and with hints of green almost teal.

There was another paragraph underneath.

'The question on everybody's mind: how will Jason compare to his predecessor? Although, Jason may not have the natural flare for the spotlight that Dick does, one can't help but fall in love with the bad boy aura surrounding the former Crime Alley inhabitant.'

Sam decided that this was a good place to stop, he already felt guilty enough about digging into the kid's life, especially considering the consequences, without having to read this abomination of journalism. So, he decided that he would research something else ad he typed in 'Lazarus Pit.'

'Lazarus Pits have been mentioned throughout human history and across the globe. The legends surrounding them differentiates from continent to continent and from one time period to another. In most accounts, they are capable of healing any wound, curing any illness, resurrecting the dead, and, if exposed periodically, granting immortality.

The Pits' power is thought to have come from the liquid in the Pit as opposed to the location itself. Throughout history, the makeup of the liquid has been thought to have been many substances. During the Renaissance, for example, it was said that the Pits were made from the grace of angels slain by demons. Many accounts tell of these Lazarus Pits fading away and losing their abilities. This was commonly thought to have been what caused underground lakes and rivers. The last Lazarus Pit is fabled to be in the possession of Ra's Al Ghul, a man said to be centuries old and who is often referred to as 'The Demon's Head'.'

Sam bookmarked the website to show to Dean later. He clicked for another site to search for more. The article mentioned a Dick Grayson, so perhaps they could try and ask him about Jason, seeing as Bruce Wayne ran a multi-national, multi-billion-dollar corporation and probably had better things to than be bothered by questions about his dead son by two literal strangers.

He glanced over at Jason briefly, sleeping soundly, wheezing softly. He knew Cas had said that Jason wasn't a threat to them, but he still couldn't help but wonder if Jason was _human_.

Maybe he was an angel. Could angels even take dead hosts?

Sam didn't know. And, quite frankly, it creeped him out.


	2. the lazarus pit

The second Cas appeared in the cavern, he felt the cold, sharp point of a blade pressed up against his back as a hand gripped his shoulder. "Who are you?" A hard voice hissed. It was definitely female, but muffled by something – a mask, perhaps.

"I need to see Ra's Al Ghul," Cas replied calmly. It wasn't as though she could _actually_ hurt him. The blade dug into his back slightly. "Immediately."

"What business do you have with Ra's?" Now that he heard it again, he caught the faintest trace of an accent hidden in her voice. Before he could respond another voice interrupted.

"Shiva? What are you doing?" This voice was to Cas' left and it was far more authoritative than the other woman's but there was a softer edge to it. Motherly was the only way Cas could describe it. Cas turned to voice and was met with the silhouette of a woman standing in a dimly lit doorway. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at him. "Castiel?"

He had vague memories of being down here once. But those had been torn to shreds by Naomi, every time she drilled into his head and wiped it clean. And then it came to him. A memory of a small girl with bright eyes staring up at him with her tiny hand clutching his.

A name flashed through his mind and, before he had the chance to comprehend it, was echoing through the room. "Talia."

"It is you." He could almost hear the smile in her voice. Her head snapped towards Shiva. "Release him," she barked.

The blade was lowered, followed by an almost begrudging, "Yes, Lady Talia."

Talia turned her attention back to Cas. "My father is expecting you." She turned on her heel." This way."

She led him down the winding corridors, lit by burning torches scattered along the walls. Eventually, the corridor opened out into a huge room. There were two rows of large, marble pillars running along either side of the opening. Talia strode forward, pushing past a pair of armed guard. Cas attempted to follow, but the guards crossed their weapons in front of him. "Let him through."

That… wasn't Talia.

An older man appeared through a gap in between two columns. The guards' weapons almost instantly fell to their sides and they both dropped to one knee. "Castiel," the man greeted, nodding curtly.

"Ra's," Cas replied.

"What do you want, Castiel?" The corner of Cas's lip quirked up at the sharpness of his voice – Ra's had never been one to mince words. It was comforting to know that somethings never change.

"I need to use the Lazarus Pit." Ra's stiffened and Cas felt an uneasy apprehension wash over him.

"For the boy, I assume," Ra's said. "The infamous second Robin. If memory serves, he was murdered."

"How did you…" Ra's shot him the closest thing to a smile that Cas had ever seen from Ra's.

"Even if I allow you to use the Pit, there's no guarantee that he'll even survive the process. The restoration of his higher brain functions alone could kill him. The memories of his death would tear his mind to pieces."

"But, with Sam-"

"Sam wasn't in possession of his soul when you brought him to me. It was still in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael. When he was healed, he had no memory of even being trapped there. He doesn't even remember being brought here. It almost killed him when his soul was returned."

"Jason was obviously brought back for a reason," Cas tried. He had to help Jason, for Dean's sake at least.

"I know," Ra's sighed, somewhat tiredly. "But that reason has not yet come to light. This boy could very well bring about some great evil if he falls into the wrong hands. I will not risk the planet for the sake of a boy."

Cas thought for a moment. "What if I could guarantee that Jason would be protected?"

"I might consider it." Cas felt slightly more optimistic at that. "And I assume you will be keeping him with the Winchesters. They would make excellent guardians. But you would have to keep me updated on the boy's state."

"Of course."

"Then," Ra's said. Cas could have sworn that there was a smile on Ra's face as he turned. "I will allow you to use my Lazarus Pit."

"Thank you."

It had been a couple of hours since Cas had left and Sam had finally managed to fall asleep, sprawled out over an armchair. Sam let out a yelp when Cas appeared behind him, crashing to the ground. The commotion woke Jason up and the look of pure panic in his eyes was reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights. "S'okay, Jason. I'm okay," Sam said, pulling himself to his feet. Jason didn't look too convinced so he held his arms out. "Look. I'm okay. Really."

Cas cleared his throat. "Where is Dean?"

"In his room." As if on cue, Dean stumbled out of his room.

"Morning, Sammy. Hey, Cas," he yawned. Jason tilted his head to the side as he stared at Dean and he chuckled. "Good morning to you too, Zombie."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Jason's face. Dean carried on into the kitchen and, surprisingly, Jason got up and followed him. After a couple of minutes, Dean emerged carrying a mug and a bowl with Jason trailing closely behind. He set the bowl down at the table and pulled the chair out for Jason. "Come on, kid. You must be starving."

Jason visibly hesitated before deciding that his hunger outweighed his apprehension. They all stood in silence whilst Jason wolfed down his cereal and Dean gulped down his coffee. Cas spoke up once they had both finished. "I need to take Jason."

Dean looked like he was going to argue before stopping himself. "Okay," he sighed. "You had better bring him back safe and sound."

Cas nodded sternly. "Of course. You have my word."

Dean knelt down beside Jason, who was staring blankly into his bowl. "Hey," he whispered. Jason glanced up at him. "Cas is gonna take you somewhere special. You're gonna be fixed right up." Jason's eyes widened briefly and there was a flicker of something in them – fear? Excitement? "But no one's gonna make you, 'kay? You don't have to go if you don't want to."

There was a slight pause before Jason nodded faintly and Dean grinned at him. Cas stepped forward and reached out for Jason's hand. "I will take him back to the bunker when it is done." Jason took Cas's hand and they both disappeared.

They both appeared in the cavernous room. The guards jumped to attention, surrounding them. "At ease," Ra's steeled. He turned and strode towards the end of the room, where two huge, wooden doors towered over them. The guards at the doors swung them open and a sickly green light fell through the opening. Fragile rock points loomed over the Pit.

Ra's walked over to the edge and Cas followed him. Jason was torn away from Cas and, with a pained yelp, was tossed into the liquid. "What are you doing?" Cas yelled.

"Do you really think the boy would have gone in willingly?" Cas remained silent, turning his gaze where Jason had been thrown in. For a while, nothing happened.

A few bubbles broke the surface of the water. It quickly grew more intense, and Ra's and Talia had to step back to avoid being splashed. A pained shriek filled the tense silence as Jason burst through the surface of the water, dripping wet and panting. An ivory streak of hair now hung limply across his forehead and his eyes were a burning, vivid shade of green. They darted around the room before locking onto them. Cas really didn't like the glint in them.

Jason let out a loud scream and lunged for them. Talia and Cas managed to dive out of his way. Ra's wasn't as fortunate. Jason managed to pin him to the ground with both hands wrapped around his throat. Cas and Talia tried to pry Jason off but he wasn't budging. Cas tapped two fingers against Jason's forehead and he collapsed on top of Ra's. Cas scooped Jason up whilst Talia help her father to his feet.

"Keep him out for at least a week," Talia explained. "His mind needs time to heal. Don't put too much stress on him when he wakes up, it could cause his mind to shut down."

"I understand," Cas said, turning towards Ra's, who was staring at Jason with concern. "Thank you."


	3. The Not So Great Escape

"No, he's still asleep. Sure. Yeah, see you soon. Bye." Kevin placed down the phone with a tired sigh. It had been a little over a week since Cas had brought Jason to the bunker.

He'd asked Kevin to research the Men of Letters archives to check if there was anything powerful enough to resurrect Jason. Kevin had fruitlessly dug through almost every book in the library and was running out of probable causes.

So far, he suspected it may have been the work of a pagan or primordial deity. Hell, if he didn't know any better he would have said that Death himself brought Jason back. But, unfortunately for him, he did know better so he had to keep looking.

The first question that crossed his mind was why?  
Why Jason? Why now?

Cas mentioned that Jason hadn't been brought back by a demon and Kevin had ruled anyone Jason knew bringing him back.

The whole situation made his head spin. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed completely fine with the circumstances. She had actually grown pretty fond of Jason. Especially after she did some digging into Wayne Enterprises.

She had caught, quite quickly, the fact that one Bruce Wayne had been spending heavily on all manners of military grade tech. Which wasn't as surprising as it seemed, WE was at the forefront of the technological revolution. And, as she knew, big businesses always leave huge paper trails to follow.

Then she noticed a pattern. Every couple of months, a shipment would just vanish. There was no evidence of it ever arriving anywhere.

The shipments all contained spare parts for weapons and body armour. They weren't considered a threat because they couldn't be used to create weapons from scratch. However, they could be used maintain nearly any kind of machinery. _Like a Bat Mobile, for instance._

Charlie felt a familiar jolt of adrenaline at her newly formed theory. _What if our illustrious Mr. Wayne isn't what he appears?_

And, after a lot more things that were probably illegal as hell, Charlie had come to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was Batman. That, therefore, made their new guest Robin.

The celebration was cut short by quite a depressing realisation. _How_ Jason had died. Charlie had followed the entire story, start to finish, and it broke her heart.

It had begun on the 1st of April that year. Batman's second Robin had disappeared and three weeks later, his beaten corpse had been discovered in the charred rubble of an explosion in Ethiopia.

The next day, Jason Todd had mysteriously been murdered. The story had taken the headlines in every paper in Gotham. It didn't take a genius to find a connection.

The story the presses told was that Batman and Robin had been working in Ethiopia when the poor boy had been caught in an accident in the warehouse. Charlie didn't believe this for a second.

After combing through the whole of Gotham, top to bottom, she found something; an entire network hidden behind the other frequencies. She'd almost missed it at first, it was so well disguised that nothing seemed out of place at first glance.

It took her a good couple of hours to hack into it. She read through a couple of files and nearly dropped her laptop. She had just hacked into the Bat computer.

There were files on every major villain in the city. But those weren't what she was after so she kept going until she reached a file entitled 'JASON TODD'. It had a lot more protection than the others but she slipped through it with ease.

The first thing that she saw was a picture of Jason with a toothy grin so wide it made her smile just looking at it. Underneath was Jason's personal information.  
 _Full name: Jason Peter Todd_  
 _Status: Deceased_  
 _Age: 14_  
 _DOB: August 16 2002_  
 _Family:_  
 _\- Catherine Todd (stepmother), deceased_  
 _\- Willis Todd (father), deceased_  
 _\- Sheila Haywood (mother), deceased_  
 _Height: 4'6_  
 _Weight: 87lbs_  
 _Eye colour: Blue_  
 _Hair colour: Black_  
 _DOD: April 27 2016_  
 _POD: Ethiopia, Africa_  
 _COD: Asphyxiation due to smoke_  
 _Notes:_  
 _After discovering that Catherine Todd was not his real mother, Jason tracked down his birth mother, Sheila Haywood, to Ethiopia where she was working as an aid-worker. Against my orders he traveled there to see her. Haywood immediately turned him over to the Joker._

 _For two weeks Jason was tortured by the Joker in an effort to force him to reveal his, and by extension my, identity. The Joker recorded every 'session' [see end]._

 _Jason and Haywood were both killed in an explosion caused by the Joker._  
 _I was too late to save him._  
 _Coroner's report_  
 _04/27-16-04/20/16_  
 _04/19/16-04/12/16_  
 _04/11/16-04/01/16_

Charlie really wished that she didn't know what those links were for. "Like hell am I looking at any of those." She muttered, getting out of her chair. Jason's room was on the same floor and she was going to go check on him.

Sometimes, when she came to check up on him, Jason would be tossing and turning in his sleep, muttering under his breath. She'd sit beside him and read. It would gradually calm him down and eventually she read every time she checked up on him. They were halfway through 'The Hobbit'.

She picked up her worn book before walking down the hall.  
-

 _Green. It consumed his mind. The violent glow against dark rock. Then he felt like he was drowning; lungs filling with liquid, numbing every inch of him._

 _The calming voices in his head, they were so close yet he couldn't quite make them out._

 _Soothing tones soon morphed into piercing cackles. The tranquility was torn away from him and the pain was different. Sharp snaps replacing the dull ache. He felt cold._  
 _A shadow loomed over him. Rusted metal glinted it's hands. A sadistically mocking voice. "He's never going to come. You will never see him again. He. Doesn't. Care."_

The sound of metal against bone echoed in his head, jolting him to reality. Jason gasped for air. He was shaking, but he didn't know why. His head was completely blank.

"Come on." He mumbled to himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. "You're fine. Just breathe. Breathe"

He stayed like this, perfectly still except for the slow breaths he took, until he heard the faint click of shoes outside.

Panic began to flare in his system. By the sound of it he had a minute or two, if he was lucky.

He frantically scoped the room, looking for anything he could use to defend himself. His eyes rested on the lamp to his left. He grabbed it and stood behind the door, back pressed firmly against the wall.

Charlie walked down the corridor, humming in time with the steady rhythm of her shoes against the tiles. She had her worn book gripped in her right hand as she turned the corner.  
Jason's room was two doors away.

She reached the door and, without hesitation, she pushed it open...

The door swung open and Jason felt his heartbeat stagger. With a cry, he leapt at the person entering the room. They collapsed when the candle holder collided with the back of their head.

Jason took one look at his 'attacker'. It was a woman with bright red hair.  
 _Red hair_. It seemed so familiar but he couldn't place it.

He sprinted down the corridors. He had to get out somehow.

The impala pulled into the garage in the Men of Letters bunker. Dean got out first, Sam following shortly after.

"D'ya think the kid's woken up yet?" Dean asked tiredly.

"Doubt it. Kevin said he'd call if he did." Sam responded.

The entire journey there Dean had been fussing over Jason.

A loud cry erupted from where the library was. _Kevin_.

Sam and Dean thundered down the corridor.

Kevin was desperately trying to chase after a blur of black and white. Dean stepped forward and grabbed Jason as he tried to sprint through the gap in between him and Sam.

"Not so fast, short stack." He muttered placing Jason over his shoulder. Jason kicked his back furiously in retaliation.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Jason emphasised each word with a solid kick at Dean's back.

"Or what?" Sam chuckled. "You'll bite out ankles?"

Jason glared at Sam and Dean grinned slightly when Jason muttered angrily under his breath.

"Go to hell, you freakin moose."

Dean glanced over at Kevin, who was laying on the floor on his back panting. "You doing okay over there?"

Kevin turned his head slightly to look at him. "Yeah." He gasped, tiredly. "Give me a minute."

Jason had decided to start kicking Dean again. "Knock it off, kid." He muttered. "We aren't gonna hurt you."

It sounded like Jason was about to say something but instead he let out a strangled cry before he started to thrash around wildly.

Dean's eyes flickered over to Sam concern written all over his face. "He might just be faking." Sam suggested.  
Tears began to spill from Jason's closed eyes. "I don't think he is." Dean said, putting him down on the floor.

Jason kicked out the second he hit the floor, narrowly missing Dean's face.

"No!" Jason screamed desperately. "Leave her alone!"

Everyone in the room was too stunned to move. Jason flinched like someone had hit him and Dean decided that that was enough.

"Cas!" Dean shouted. "Cas! Get down here now!"  
Cas appeared in front of Dean with a worried expression. He was about to say something before his eyes landed on Jason.

Cas rushed over and knelt beside him, placing his hand on Jason's chest. He frowned.

"What is it?" Sam asked. Both him and Dean kneeling on the other side of Jason.

"His soul. Pieces of it are missing." Cas half whispered to himself.

"Is there anything we can do?" Dean asked frantically, trying to pin down Jason's arms.

"I can try to fill the gaps." Cas replied, not looking up from Jason. "But he might not survive it."

"Why?"

"For the process to a higher chance of working, Jason has to awake and it'll be complete agony. Even if he survives, it might not last. Anything could cause him to slip."

Dean hesitated slightly. "Do it."


	4. Welcome To The Family

Jason's pained cries echoed around the room. A blinding flash of white light temporarily filled the library. Jason was pale, unconscious and dripping with sweat.

"It's done." Cas said, standing up. "Jason should be fine. Give him time to rest; he should wake in a couple of hours. There are... other matters that require my attention. I need to go."

Cas was gone before either of them could ask anything.

"What the hell was that?" The three of them turned to the source of the voice. Charlie was leaned against the doorframe, clutching the back of her head.

"That's a long story." Dean replied. "What happened to you?" He gestured to the back of his head.

"Our resident zombie decided that the decor had other uses." She muttered.

"Dean, how about you go help Charlie? Kevin and I can handle Jason." Sam suggested.

Dean hesitated. "You sure?" Both Sam and Kevin nodded.

Dean left with Charlie. Sam picked Jason up. He was surprisingly light. He walked out the same door Dean had gone through with Kevin behind him.

Kevin guided Sam to where Jason's room was. As it turned out, it was a couple of doors down from Dean's and just around the corner from his.

He placed Jason on his bed carefully. He was about to leave before Kevin chimed in. "Don't we need clothes?"

Sam looked slightly confused. "For Jason." Kevin explained. "I think he'd appreciate having clothes other than the ones he was buried in."

"We don't have anything that'll fit him. Even your stuff won't. He's pretty small."

Kevin gave him a wry smile. "Charlie was more than prepared. She was excited and really went to town with the whole clothes thing." He laughed slightly. "Jason could only wear everything once and still have enough clothes to last him months."

Kevin walked over to the wardrobe and half opened one door. He grabbed a couple of pieces of clothing with one hand and used the other to stop everything from falling out. "See?" He said, slamming the door shut.

Kevin walked over to the other side of Jason's bed, folding up the various items. A pair of black jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with the words 'you only live twice' on the front in white. Sam raised an eyebrow when he read it. "Seriously?"

Kevin shook his head. "This isn't even the worst one." He placed them down on the bedside table. "Let's go see how Charlie and Dean are doing."

Dean was digging around through the freezer. "A-ha!" He exclaimed pulling out an ice pack.

He tossed it to Charlie who was sat at the table. She pick it up and held it to the back of her head; wincing slightly as she did.

Sam and Kevin entered minutes later. "How's the head?" Sam asked.

Charlie looked up. "Good. It's just a little sore."

"How's the kid?" Dean added.

"Great." Sam answered. "He seems fine, at least. I guess we'll see when he wakes up."

Dean nodded. A pretty awkward silence ensued. "How about," Charlie began, "Sam and I go grab some supplies. You and Kevin can hold down the fort?"

Dean nodded absently. "Yeah, sure."

Charlie pushed Sam out with her, both eyeing Dean in concern.

An hour later, Jason woke up. He lay there for a good twenty minutes, staring at the plain ceiling, silent tears streaking from his eyes.

He sat up, casting a quick glance around the room. It was the same one he had been in last time. His eyes rested on a bundle of clothes next to him. Without hesitation, he grabbed them.

He exited the room exactly a minute later, staring intently at the white streak of hair that was hanging down his forehead.

The tile floor was freezing, especially on Jason's bare feet. Jason could vaguely remember the path he took last time; he was relying more on instinct than anything.

He smiled to himself when the corridor opened out into a familiar room. Dozens of tall bookshelves lined the elevated half of the room. Two tables were in the centre. A man was sat at the one furthest away from him.

Jason eyes scanned over him, taking in his appearance. _Tall; definitely over 6ft. Blond. Broad shoulders. Late thirties, at the most._ One detail in particular struck Jason as quite odd. _He was wearing a dressing gown._

"It's rude to stare, y'know." The man called out, taking a swig from the mug in his hand. His voice was deep and oddly re-assuring, like Jason had heard it before. The man glanced over his shoulder at Jason. "Take a seat." He practically growled, roughly pushing the chair opposite him out with his foot.

Jason hesitated slightly, before he walked over to the man. He had to stop himself from flinching when the chair screeched against the floor.

His legs swung awkwardly, his toes barely grazed the floor. His hands gripped the sides of the chair tightly to stop them shaking.

If the man noticed that Jason was terrified, he didn't mention it. "The name's Dean." He gave Jason a friendly smile and he relaxed slightly.

"J-Jason." He managed to stutter out. He could practically feel himself going red.

Dean ignored Jason's embarrassment. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions." He spread his arms out. "So fire away."

Jason thought for a moment. It wasn't that he could think of a question; he had hundreds of questions bouncing around inside his head. He couldn't decide one was the most important.

"What- what happened to me?" Jason asked cautiously. "I know who I am and I remember my life before I died, but anything else is kinda..." He struggled to think of the right word.

"Scattered?" Dean offered. When Jason nodded, he continued. "You were murdered." He said bluntly, no point in mincing words. Jason deserved that much, at least.

He heard Jason mutter the word 'Joker' darkly under his breath. "We found you digging yourself out of your grave."

"And you brought me here?" Jason finished. He assumed 'We' meant Dean and the taller man he remembered from before.

"To put it simply, yeah." Dean responded, gulping down the contents of his mug. Jason was hit by the smell of coffee.

His stomach ached when he thought he realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The sound of his stomach growling broke the silence that had ensued. Dean chuckled slightly, a smile growing on his face. "How 'bout we go grab a bite to eat? Then I'll tell you whatever you wanna know. Sound good?"

Jason nodded frantically.

Dean left the room with Jason trailing behind him nervously.

Sam and Charlie dragged bag after bag through the door. They arrived in the kitchen and were met with a sight that was absolutely adorable.

Jason was perched on the edge of the counter, leaned forward. He was staring at Dean, looking absolutely star struck as Dean was recalling a story with broad gestures. Both had broad grins on their faces.

Two plates of half eaten food had been discarded on the table.

Just as Dean ended his story he saw Sam and Charlie in the doorway, both had a slight smile on their faces. "Hey." He greeted.

Sam stood there, completely dumbstruck, with a smile playing across his face. Charlie, on the other hand, strode toward Jason who was sheepishly looking everywhere but at her.

"Hey, Jason." She gave what she really hoped was a friendly smile. "I'm Charlie."

Jason's eyes flickered from her face to her shoes. "H-Hi." He mumbled. "Sorry about your head." He braced himself like he was expecting her to shout.

"It's fine. I forgive you." Charlie answered without missing a beat. Her arms wrapped around Jason. He froze.

"You're one of us now, Jason." She murmured. "A Winchester. Welcome to the family."

Jason hugged back. _Family._ He liked the sound of that. _Family._


	5. Christmas- Part 1

After a couples of weeks, Jason had completely settled down. Christmas was just around the corner and Charlie was practically dancing with excitement.

"What are you doing?" Kevin stared at Charlie as he enter the library. She was bouncing up and down in her chair with her laptop out in front of her.

"It's nearly Christmas." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So..." Kevin prompted. He had a feeling about where this was going. Every year Charlie practically begged everyone to celebrate Christmas with her. It usually ended with her and Dean sat in front of the T.V watching the Christmas special, drinking mulled wine. Now Jason was here, she had enough leverage to guilt trip them into go full out.

"We should celebrate!" Charlie squealed, scrolling down whatever page her laptop was on.

"What should we be celebrating?" Sam asked walking in, he took the seat next to Charlie. Both Charlie an Kevin answered at the same time.

"Christmas."

Sam pulled the same face that he did whenever Christmas was mentioned. It was the sort of expression you'd have if you turned down something you really didn't want to do in the first place.

"Why?" Sam's question was blunt.

"Because," Charlie began, "It'll be fun."

Sam didn't look to impressed. "And." She added, "I'm sure Jason would really appreciate it."

Sam thought over her point. Charlie turned to Kevin and winked at him. It was obvious that Sam would give in. Especially after she had dropped the J-bomb. Sam and Dean both had quite the soft spot for Jason - they all did.

"Fine." Sam sighed. "We'll do Christmas."

Three weeks later, it was Christmas Day. Jason woke up at the same time he always did, 6:30. He was greeted by the echoing silence.

He craned his neck to look around his room. In the dim light, he could just about make out the rectangular silhouettes of photographs stuck to the walls. Jason had found an old camera in the garage and he had become quite fond of photography; he practiced on the unsuspecting inhabitants of the base. Dean and Sam had decided that Jason would start going to school after the Christmas break. There was a school a mile or two away from the bunker, but, in the meantime, he had to find something to keep him occupied.

After a while, he decided to head down to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. No one else every got up this early. He might bump into Charlie who sometimes would stay up all night binge watching TV shows in the Library because it had the best internet connection, but that had only ever happened twice, so he highly doubt that he would.

When he reached the library, it was empty. Jason could the outline of the absolutely gargantuan Christmas tree, that he, Charlie and Dean had spent hours decorating. He reached for the light switch and...  
"Surprise!"

Everyone was stood in a huddle around the tree with grins on their faces.

"Merry Christmas, Jay." Charlie beamed, walking over to him. She turned and rested her arm over his shoulder, guiding him the others.

They all gave their own little greeting to Jason. Kevin and Cas both gave him friendly smiles and pats on the back. Sam and Dean took turns in making Jason's hair even more unruly.

Under the tree was a huge pile of gifts. Dean noticed Jason eyeing them. "We all pitched in." He smiled. "Go nuts." He ruffled Jason's hair again.

Jason seemed slightly overwhelmed. "I-um," He stuttered eventually, "got you all presents."

And then he left the room, leaving everyone slightly confused. He emerged a couple of minutes later carrying a small bundle of awfully wrapped presents.

There was a pause before he gave them out one by one. He waited for each of them to open their present before handing out the next.

"Charlie." He handed over the present at the very top of the pile. Charlie carefully tore off the brown paper Jason had used to wrap it. It was an absolutely beautiful necklace. It was a thin gold chain with a single white pearl.

"It-it used to be my mother's." He explained nervously. "I thought it'd look nice on you."

Charlie wrapped her arms around Jason. "Thank you, Jay. I love it." She had tears welling up in her eyes.

After Charlie had released him, Jason gave the next gift to Kevin.

Jason explained it as Kevin unwrapped it. "I remember you told me you used to play the cello. So I thought you might like..." Jason trailed off sheepishly.

It was a record labelled _Sol Gabetta_. "Sweet," Kevin muttered, "Thanks."

He walked over to the record player and painstakingly places it in. The dulcet sounds of a cello filled the library.

Jason shuffled over to Cas who was looking kind of aloof. "Here." He handed over a squarish looking parcel. Cas opened it cautiously. It was a small album.

Cas glanced between the album and Jason who was looking up at him hopefully. "This - isn't necessary, but thank you."

"It's so you always have something to remind you of us." Jason said thoughtfully, taking it out of his hands, "See, it's got all these pictures of us in it."

He put the album in Cas' pocket and walked over to Sam. Jason's hands shot up into the air and the present was just below Sam's face.

"Here." When Sam took it, Jason still stared up at him hopefully. "Do you like it?"

Sam tore the paper off much less carefully than the others had. It was a huge stack of folders. He looked at Jason for an answer.

"You know how you said that your grandfather used to be a Man Of Letters." Sam nodded and he continued, "Well, I went looking through the members archives and this is everything I found about Henry Winchester."

"Seriously?" Sam asked examining the folders, "How did you get so much?"

Jason smirked. "Ah, you forget," he answered mysteriously, "I was trained by the Bat himself. My snooping skills are matched by no other." Jason paused for dramatic effect. "And by that I mean I asked Bobby to help."

They all nodded. Bobby was definitely the guy to go to for information. Sam flicked through the papers and Jason sneaked over to Dean and shoved the last present into his hands. It was an awkward shape and very thin.

"Open it." Jason urged.

Dean ripped off the paper and the look of pure joy on his face was priceless. It was a batarang.

"I found it in my suit pocket." Jason explained cheerfully. "I don't need it so..."

"Awesome." Dean engulfed Jason in a hug. "Let's go try it out." Dean sprinted out of the room with it.

Everyone else followed him into the target room.


	6. Christmas- Part 2

Dean spent twenty minutes trying, and failing, to hit anywhere remotely near the target. Kevin and Charlie had taken refuge behind Sam after one of Dean's throws got far too close for comfort.

"You're not doing it right." Jason repeated, arms crossed, for the hundredth time. Dean sighed in defeat. He handed over the batarang.

Charlie and Kevin peered from of either side of Sam. Jason turned to the target and threw it lazily. The tip embedded itself into the chest of the human shaped target.

Jason faced Dean with his eyebrows raised. Before Dean could retrieve his present, Sam intervened.

"How about we let Jason open his presents?" He suggested, "Then he can help you with... that."

Dean nodded and they all left.

Jason had a smirk on his face. "You almost took Charlie's head off with it." He snickered.

Dean shoved him playfully. "Shut it, short stack."

Jason had spent a good ten minutes deciding which present he wanted to open first. There were six in total; one from the five of them and one from Bobby.

He decided to open Charlie's one first. It was wrapped in vibrant green paper. It was an assortment of t-shirts with all manner of bad puns on them and handmade sweaters and scarves. Jason picked out a deep red one an put in on with a grin.

Next was Kevin's. It was wrapped in plain white. Jason tore it off. There were three books. "How the hell did you get these?" Jason asked in awe, "These are all first editions."

He sorted through them, running his thumb over the covers.

"A magician never reveals his secrets." Kevin parroted. Jason mock-scowled at him.

He placed them carefully down on the table before rushing back over to the tree.

A small one, messily wrapped in newspaper and duct tape, was selected next. Jason recognised the tiny handwriting instantly. _Cas._

Jason wrestled with the wrapping for a few minutes before Dean stepped in to help. The gift slipped out of the paper as he tore through it.

Instinctively, Jason dived to catch it. He landed flat on back, with the present securely pressed to his chest. Jason carefully removed his hands. It was a camera.

"I was informed that you enjoyed taking photographs." Cas explained, "A digital camera is far more suitable than the one you have now."

Jason leapt up. "Everyone get together!" He ordered.

There was a slight pause before everybody moved. Cas and Dean were either side of Sam; Kevin and Charlie were stood in front. A blinding flash hit them.

"How 'bout a little warning next time?" Dean muttered, blinking in an attempt to regain his sight.

Jason grinned sheepishly. "Sorry..."

He picked another present up from under the tree. It had a single word written across the top of it. _Jason._

Other than that, there were no other markings or anything to indicate what Bobby had given him. He slowly peeled off the paper.

It was an absolutely ancient, leather bound book. "A Guide To The Supernatural: Hunters' Edition." Jason read. He carefully lifted the cover. A string necklace was tucked into the edge of the first page.

He was far too entranced by the book to notice everyone glance nervously at each other.

He hooked the cord onto one finger and placed the book on the table. A single wooden carving was attached. It was far too small for Jason to work out what it was but he could see a set of horn sticking out of each side. Jason laid it slowly into the cover.

He reached under the tree to grab the last two presents. Sam's was the smaller of the two but was heavier.

He tore the wrapping off. There was a phone covered in layers of bubble wrap. Once he had worked the protective cover off, he examined the phone, turning it in his hands. It was a simple smart phone, no markings on it whatsoever.

Jason looked at Sam curiously.

"It's got all of our numbers in it," Sam answered, "So you'll always be able to contact us."

Jason grinned and placed it on the table.

He sat down beside Dean's gift. It was a cardboard box with his name scrawled across the side of it. Jason opened it.

He frowned and reached into the box, pulling out a black leather collar.

"You didn't." Jason muttered.

Everyone turned to look at Dean, who was looking quite pleased with himself. "Yep." He announced, "There's a dog shelter not too far from here. I'll take you to go pick one. It's open tomorrow so we can go then."

The rest of the day consisted of various Christmas festivities. Dean was in the kitchen with Jason. It was then that he found out that Jason had a temper in the kitchen that rivalled Gordon Ramsay.

He had kicked Dean out within an hour and refused to let anyone else in because they _'wouldn't know good cooking if it tap danced on them'._

But, as they had found out sometime later, it had been worth it because Jason had come out with a six course meal that tasted like absolute heaven.

Christmas for the Winchesters ended in its usual fashion, watching every Doctor Who Christmas Special in existence.

Sam found them all asleep in Charlie's room. Charlie and Jason were leaning against each other under the covers and Dean was sprawled out across the bed.


	7. Return Of The Colonel

The next day Jason woke Dean at 4 in the morning and they had been at the animal shelter since 10.

That had been 3 hours ago.

"How about this one?" Linda, the woman who had been showing them around, asked pointing to a small, brown dachshund.

"I don't know." Jason sighed, "I just can't decide."

"It is an awfully difficult decision." Linda agreed, "Shame you can't take all of them, right?" She laughed slightly. Jason turned to Dean with a slightly hopeful glint in his eyes.

"No." Was Dean's answered to Jason's unasked question, "We are not getting all of them."

The was a hint of amusement mixed in with the irritation and fatigue and Jason pouted slightly.

They continued on down the lengthy corridor, past a particularly ugly hairless cat that hissed at them. Jason and Dean both stopped to look at it, glancing from each other to the cat as they did.

Another hour passed and Jason still couldn't decide. They had walked around the shelter at least a dozen times now.

"This one!" Jason shouted from around a corner. He had wondered ahead of them after Linda had started to flirt with Dean. Well, _at_ Dean. He was pretending he was married; his 'wife' had black hair, blue eyes and was named Casey.

They rounded the corner to find Jason sat on the floor, petting a large German shepherd.

The dog sat up when he saw Dean and tilted its head to the side. Dean looked back at the dog.

"His name's The Colonel." Linda announced, pulling a huge key chain out of her pocket. She unlocked the cage. "How about me and your dad go sort out the paperwork and you can play with your new pet in the waiting room, huh?"

Jason nodded and they walked down to the reception desk. The Colonel stayed by Jason's side the entire time.

Dean was filling out a clipboard whilst Jason played with The Colonel. A loud thud broke the relative silence.

Dean glanced up from the paper. Jason had fallen out of his seat and was halfway out of the chair, laughing hysterically. The Colonel was stood over him with his nose pressed to Jason's forehead. Dean really couldn't resist taking a photo.

The Colonel and Jason both looked up after Dean had taken the photo. Jason had practically mastered Sam's bitchface and had no problems with using it against Dean. The only other person he ever used it against was Bobby, who had smacked the back of his head with a rolled up newspaper. The Colonel was looking extremely irritated and was snarling slightly. Dean took another photo.


	8. In Which We Meet Mr Crowley

Summer had rolled in and everyone had decided that it was definitely time for Jason to learn about the 'family business'. Sam was appointed the unfortunate job of trying to convince him. Needless to say, Jason wasn't having any of it.

"Ha ha." Jason deadpanned, "Monster hunters. You honestly couldn't come up with a better fake job?"

"Well, what do you think we do?" Sam was genuinely curious as to what his answered would be. Jason considered Sam's question for a moment before speaking.

"I-I-" He started, before sighing. "I got nothing."

Sam's face only said one word, _exactly._ "No." Jason scolded, "No. You do not hunt monsters. Stop being ridiculous or I will tell Bobby."

Jason jabbed Sam's arm. "Ow." Sam muttered, rubbing his arm. Jason was surprisingly strong for how scrawny he was. They had desperately, and quite fruitlessly, tried to get Jason to put on weight. To some extent they had been successful, you could only just see the outline of his rib cage now.

"How about I prove it?" Sam offered, "I'll show you a real-life demon."

Jason looked at him for a while, like he was trying to figure out whether Sam actually meant it or not. "Fine." He sighed.

The last ingredient went into the bowl and it erupted in smoke. Jason coughed and waved the fumes away from him. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

"This had better be important, Moose." A voice behind them drawled. Jason turned before Sam did.

"Crowley." Sam greeted curtly, "This is Jason. Jason this is-"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that _he's_ a demon?" Jason cut in, looking rather unimpressed. "The whole appearing out of nowhere trick is really over rated. I was Robin, this was like the first thing I learned."

Sam turned to Jason. He wasn't there. "It's easier than it looks." Jason said from the other side of Sam.

"Crowley. Do the eye thing." Sam ordered, waving his hand dismissively. Crowley sighed and his eyes flitted red for a moment or two before returning to their usual colour.

Jason still didn't look all that bothered. "I knew a guy who was made out of sand and could shape-shift. If you want me to believe you, you're gonna have to try harder than that."

Crowley looked quite offended. "You want more? Fine." He waved his hand and sent Jason and Sam flying. Jason landed neatly on his feet and Sam knocked over a stack of shelves.

"Did I mention the other guy made of phosphorus?"

Crowley groaned and then disappeared right in front of them and reappeared behind Jason.

He didn't even bother to turn around. "How about the woman who can control plants?"

Crowley was absolutely fuming. Sam tried to tackle him but it was too late. Red smoke was pouring out of Crowley's mouth.

It forced it's way down Jason's throat as he coughed furiously.

"Well," Jason muttered bitterly, "If this doesn't convince him, I may have to kill him." His eyes flushed red. "Again."

The red smoke erupted violently from Jason's mouth. He fell to his knees, grasping his throat. Sam knelt down beside him.

"Okay. I believe you. Just don't... do that again."


	9. Time Flies Part 1

_To Be A Hunter:_  
Once Jason had found out about what Sam and Dean really did, he was very adamant that he should go on hunts with them. Which Sam and Dean were very much against. So they came to a compromise: Jason would learn about hunting and what it entailed, if he still wanted to be a hunter, they would take him after he finished school. If he decided on a normal life, they were prepared to send him to college.

"Four, over a week, throats torn out. No organs missing. Authorities presume animal attacks." Sam prompted. "What is it?"

"Vamps." Jason answered firmly. "Pretty large nest. Two dozen, maybe more"

"Good." Dean praised. They had only gone over this once and it had been a couple of weeks ago. He was genuinely impressed that Jason had recalled it all basically perfectly. "But, what do you do?"

"Proceed with extreme caution. Don't engage without backup."

"Well done. But, let's move onto weapons now. What do you use salt for?"

"Ghosts and demons." That, had been something Jason had learned via the many books on the topic of hunting that Bobby had sent over. Sam couldn't remember all the amount of times that he'd woken in the middle of the night to find Jason sat cross-legged on the library floor with all manner of books and notes sprawled out in front of him and The Colonel sat happily next to him.

"Silver?"

They continued for three more hours, Jason answered each and every question fervently.

 _Bearer Of Bad News:_  
Everything had been going exceptionally well that morning.

Until Jason had picked the newspaper off of the table and stormed out the kitchen. Kevin and Jason were the only ones who were ever awake at this time of morning.

Kevin frowned and followed him. He had found Jason in the shooting room, firing bullets into a target with a angry sneer.

"The bastard replaced me." He snarled, glaring at the newspaper.

Kevin could just make out what the headline was from where he was stood. _Welcoming A New Wayne._

Crap. This was not good at all. Jason had always been a little touchy about his past and talked sparingly about it, if ever.

The picture below was of Bruce Wayne smiling brightly with his arm wrapped around a thin boy in a suit. He was probably around a year or two younger than Jason.

"Timothy Wayne." Jason spat. "I bet the bastard's already made him Robin too. "

For a while they both stood in silence. Kevin was unsure of what to say and Jason seemed quite content with seething quietly.

"I knew he'd replace me eventually, but..."

"You didn't think it'd hurt this much." Kevin sighed.

Jason nodded. "It's not just that. Bruce was considering making Him his ward a week after my funeral. _A week._

I hadn't even been dead for a month, Kev, and he was already trying to replace me. I can't help thinking if he ever actually cared."

"That doesn't matter anymore." Kevin said. "Look, I know it hurts. That's fine. But you shouldn't worry about him. What happened was then, now is all that should matter to you because you have us now. And, now we have you."

Jason smiled and wiped away the tears in his eyes. "Thanks, Kevin. I needed that."

 _Don't Leave Me Behind:_  
A pained scream had woke Charlie in the dead of night. Sam and Dean were out on a hunt and Kevin had left a week ago to visit his mother. Which meant that the only person besides herself in the Bunker was... _Jason._

She raced through the corridors to Jason's room. The door was slightly ajar and the light in the hallway was on. Jason insisted on it.

She carefully pushed the door, cringing when it creaked. Jason was shifting in his sleep, muttering frantically and hissing.

As she approached, she began to make out what he was saying. "Don't leave me here, please."

His breaths were shaky and tears were running down his face.

Charlie perched onto the chair by his bed and gently placed a hand on his forehead, running it through his hair. She repeated the motion until his breathing steadied and he stilled.

His eyes fluttered open and she smiled. He turned to her with a dazed look. "Charlie?" He rasped eventually. "Did I wake you?"

"No." She smiled. "You were having nightmares again, weren't you?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He mumbled something she almost didn't catch. "I don't wanna bother you."

"You could never bother me, Jason. Ever. Come on, talking about it will help. Trust me." Charlie reassured. She genuinely meant it, he was like the little brother she'd always wanted. She'd do anything for him. They all would.

Jason hesitated slightly. "Do you guys care about me?"

"Of course we do." She answered before he had even finished. She didn't even have to think about it.

"So, you wouldn't forget about me?" He asked, before adding, "If I died again?"

"Is that what this is about?" Jason nodded shyly and she nodded her head along with him, prompting him to continue.

"I-I- in my dream, Joker had found me again and was keeping me in the catacombs under Arkham." He swallowed roughly but carried on nonetheless. "Then, Sam and Dean and Kevin and Bobby and You showed up but- but you didn't save me. You all walked right past and left me there."

By the time he ha finished, Jason was staring blankly at the wall. "Oh, Jace." Charlie sighed softly, hugging him. He shuffled across the bed, making room for her.

"Don't tell Sam and Dean." Jason mumbled after a moment or two of silence. "Please."

"Sure thing, Jace." Charlie said back. "Since neither of us are likely to get sleep any time soon, d'you wanna go watch Doctor Who?"

"Yes."


	10. Time Flies Part 2

_Sparring:_  
Jason was a natural fighter. The years of living on the streets had taught him the skills and instinct he needed to survive, and his training with Bruce had refined what he already knew.

As Robin, he fought in a more similar way to Bruce than his predecessor, Dick Grayson. Jason's fighting was far less focused on his defence or getting as much distance between him and his opponent as he could, instead he much preferred to get close enough to deal serious injuries and when they went down he wanted to make sure that they'd stay down. He knew they wouldn't hesitate to kill him because he was a child. If they weren't going to hold back, why should he?

This particular mindset caused many an argument between Jason and Bruce. It usually ended with Jason sulking in his room and Bruce taking out his frustration on training equipment. Alfred usually intervened, and with a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream slipped into Jason's room, and a few stern, but carefully placed words with Bruce, all was forgotten. Quite frankly, Alfred thought that the only reason the two ever butted heads was because they were so alike. Stubborn with a love for helping people. Even if it entailed dressing up in ridiculous costumes and beating thugs to a bloody pulp.

When Dean had marched into Jason's room and declared that he was going to teach him to fight, Jason almost burst into tears. Through fits of laughter he had managed to choke out a couple of sentences. "I was Robin. I can fight just fine, thank you."

Dean had been very insistent that Jason learn to fight 'the hunter way' and Jason had eventually given in.

As Dean had found out, Jason was absolutely right.

"I'll go easy on you." Dean laughed. Jason rolled his eyes and slipped into his fighting stance. Dean did the same. For a while, the two circled one another, waiting for the other to strike first.

Finally Dean sent a quick jab at Jason, who span around the blow and kicked the back of Dean's knee. Once Dean was on the floor, Jason kicked him again between his shoulder blades and rested his shin along Dean's back, pinning him to the ground.

Dean lifted himself up, Jason rolled off of his back and onto the mat. Despite being fed ungodly amounts of food, Jason was still absolutely tiny and weighed barely anything in comparison to Dean and Sam. "Not bad, Zombie."

Dean had recently been quite taken to calling Jason as many nicknames relating to the undead as he possible could. He had become particularly fond of Zombie. In retaliation, Jason had begun to call Dean, 'squirrel'. He had heard Crowley call him it more than once and decided he'd join in. "Why thank you, Squirrel." Jason lowered into a mocking bow. Dean chuckled at the gesture.

The next couple of rounds went more or less the same way. Dean just got knocked to the ground a little harder each time.

 _Talia Al Ghul:_

It had been Jason who had noticed that there was something odd going on with Cas. He had almost slapped himself for not seeing it earlier. At first it had just been him noticing things that could have been explained as him being paranoid or just over-reacting. Then it had gotten down right weird, he would catch Cas staring at him and occasionally jotting something down in a notebook. He had even overheard some of Cas' phone calls. They were all in another language but Jason was certain that he'd heard his name be mentioned. This had gone on for a week before Cas disappeared for a few days.

This ritual had carried on once a month every month until Jason had decided that enough was enough. Confronting Cas had been harder than Jason had thought. Every time he had gotten close enough, Cas had disappeared. After 11 missed attempts, he had decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Hey, Dean." Jason said as casually as possible, leaning on the kitchen counter.

"Hey, Jace." Dean greeted, rooting around through the drawers. Jason had a moment of panic. _How the hell was he going to work this into a conversation? Y'know what? To hell with subtlety._

"So," Jason began, "have you noticed anything weird going on with Cas?"

"Nope. Why? D'you?" Dean stopped rooting around and looked at Jason. "What is it?"

"I'm sure it's probably nothing." Jason muttered. "It's just that..."

"Gut feeling?"

"Yeah."

Dean listened to Jason's concerns patiently. Once he had finished, Dean came to a conclusion.

"Well," He started, "you're right. That does sound pretty weird."

For a solid hour, the bounced ideas off of one another until they settled on something.

"Hey, Cas ." Jason called, peeking from behind the door frame. "Can you help me reach this book?"

"Yes, I can." Jason grinned and disappeared. Cas got up and followed after him. He led Cas down the corridor talking animatedly about the book he wanted.

They reached the room and Jason quickly stepped away from the door frame. Dean emerged from behind a bookshelf and dropped a lit match. Fire rose up and surrounded Cas.

"What- Dean, what are doing?" Cas exclaimed, frantically looking around him.

"Relax, Cas." Dean sighed. "We just want some answers. Jason?"

Dean stepped to the side and let Jason take over. Jason gulped before speaking. "Why have you been acting so weird? You keep tabs on everything I do and I want to know why."

Cas hesitated and considered lying but decided against it. Jason would learn about it sooner or later. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually and I would have told you immediately but Talia advised against it."

"Talia?" Jason asked. "As in Talia Al Ghul?" He recalled encountering her once. She had been kind to him and he could remember her wiping the floor with him the one time they fought. Cas' expression gave him all the information he needed. "What has she got to do with this?"

"She convinced her father to allow you access to his Lazarus Pit. In return, I was to give her updates on your progress. She seems to be quite fond of you."

"Why didn't she want me to know about her?"

"She feared that if you had any link to your past, it may cause the gaps in your soul to reform." Jason nodded. He remembered Dean telling him about the pieces of his soul that were missing. Honestly he didn't really understand half of it but he got the overall gist.

"Can- can I see her?" Jason asked after a moment or two of silence. Cas frowned.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Knowing about her is one thing, but seeing her? I'll ask but you shouldn't be too hopeful."

Jason nodded and turned to Dean. He gestured for Dean to put out the flames. Dean grabbed a bucket of water he had by his feet and emptied its contents over the floor.

Cas glanced at Jason before disappearing.

"Castiel." Shiva greeted coldly. It was blatant that she didn't trust him but she was becoming more civil toward him with each visit. "Why are you here? Your visit isn't due yet."

"I need to see Talia." Cas replied. "It's about Jason."

Shiva's stance loosened slightly at the mention of Jason. Cas assumed the two had met before. "Lady Talia is busy training her son." Shiva stated and then she sighed. "But I'm sure she'll see you. Follow me."

Shiva led him down the same pathway Talia did upon his visit. It led out into the same stone courtyard it always had.

In the distance he could vaguely make out two figures sparring against the harsh sunset. One was far shorter than the other and was being slowly forced back into a corner.

They both stopped when Shiva called out. "My lady! Castiel wishes to speak to you."

Talia began walking over to them, her son trailing after. "Castiel." She grinned. "What are you doing here?"

"Jason knows." Cas answered. Her smile dropped.

"Mother. What is going on?" Her son demanded.

Talia's hand dropped onto her son's shoulder. "Hush, Damian. This does not concern you." Damian looked like her was going to argue but a pointed look from Talia silenced him. She turned back to Cas. "How? I thought you said Jason was unaware of our meetings."

"He was but he had become questioning. He and Dean cornered me and I had no other choice." This wasn't exactly true, he had actually wanted to tell Jason outright in the first place.

"I assume that you're here because he wishes to see me?" Cas nodded. "When you told him, did Jason seem lightheaded? Faint? Disorientated at all?"

"No." Cas answered, "Why?"

"It is the first sign of his soul re-tearing." Talia thought for a moment. "Very well. You may bring Jason here."


	11. Time Flies Part 3

_Talia Al Ghul (Continued):_

Dean was leaned against the back wall with Jason sat by his legs when Cas reappeared.

Jason jumped up when he saw him. "What'd she say?"

"She said I can take you." Cas smiled slightly as Jason beamed at him.

"So, when are we going?" Dean asked, pushing himself off of the wall. Cas frowned. "I think only Jason is permitted to go."

"Like, hell." Dean argued. "He is not going by himself."

"I'll be there too, Dean."

"You know what I mean, Cas."

"I'd like Dean to go too." Jason piped in. "Only if it's okay, though." He added hastily.

Cas considered this for a moment. "If you really insist, then I'm sure Talia won't mind."

Dean's head was spinning when they appeared. Jason, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by teleporting; either that or he was far too engrossed by the scenery to care.

They were stood in the middle of a gigantic courtyard. A thick vine was spread out over the length of the four marble walls that surrounded them and had a fluorescent pink flowers scattered along it as it branched off. There was no grass, only stepping stones in varying greys. A large bonsai tree was to the left and shaded them from the brutal sun.

Jason looked completely awestruck as he looked around. A gasp escaped him as his eyes settled onto what lay over the wall. An enormous palace. Its white stone glowed against the clear skies.

He jumped when a hand rested on his shoulder. A tall woman was staring down at him with an amused expression.

"Jason." She smiled. It was a very pretty smile but it didn't quite fit on her face properly. It reminded him of how, sometimes, he'd catch Dean with this sad look in his eyes and then, when he realised Jason was watching him, he'd smile and ruffle his hair like he always did, but the sad look was still there. "My name is Talia."

Jason glanced around. Cas and Dean were watching them. Dean's hand was hovering over his gun and Cas was gripping Dean's wrist, keeping him from going over to them. Jason felt his cheeks burn when he realised Talia watching him with a calculating look on her face. He coughed awkwardly. "Hi." _Very articulate, Jason._ "I-I..." He squinted at her slightly. "I've seen you before. Haven't I? Before I..."

She smiled softly at him, understanding what he was trying to ask. "Yes. You and I first met when you were still Robin."

"I-I remember pieces of when I was Robin." He admitted. Jason didn't know why, but he felt comfortable enough with Talia to tell her these things. Some of which he hadn't even told Sam or Dean. "I remember my mom and Alfie and Bruce and Dick and... dying. But everything else is all blurry."

Talia nodded. "Sometimes our minds try to protect us from the past. Maybe it's for the best."

"Can- can you tell me what I was like?" Jason asked, looking up at her. "As Robin?"

She smiled. This time her eyes lit up. "Of course."

She led him to a bench under the bonsai tree and began. "You were brave and compassionate and selfless. You were constantly injuring yourself trying to save others. You'd come back from patrols covered in bruises and scratches but you'd always be smiling. Being Robin was your everything."


	12. Time Flies Part 4

_A Day In The Life:_

Jason groaned when his alarm went off. He rolled over and blindly groped at the air above his bedside table until he found the off-button.

He tiredly stumbled into the kitchen. Sam was already sat at the table eating. "Morning." He chuckled. For whatever reason, Sam had always found the fact that Jason was most certainly not a morning person hilarious. Jason grunted in response, walking over to the coffee machine, dragging his feet.

It was already half full. As much as Sam found it funny, he wanted to deal with an irritable Jason for the least amount of time he could help. He pulled out a mug, slamming it down onto the counter and roughly pouring coffee into it. Some of it spilled over the edges but he took no heed. He'd clean it up later.

Jason then slid across the floor to the table and sat down opposite Sam. They sat in silence, Sam occasionally turning the page in the newspaper he was reading and Jason glaring into thin air. Jason set his empty mug down and slunk back out.

He arrived back in the kitchen a couple of minutes later, fully dressed. It reminded Sam of Dean. The black t-shirt, the faded jeans, the boots, he even wore the same leather jacket. It fit him much better than when Dean had first given it to him. He was actually taller than Dean now and only an inch or so shorter than Sam. Jason ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his jacket. The almost luminous white streak in his hair was far longer than the rest of his hair was, so hung slightly down his forehead. The Colonel trailed in behind him.

"Mornin' Sam." Jason yawned.

"Morning, Jace."

He reached into the cupboard and brought out a dog bowl and a small plastic zip-lock bag filled with dog food. He emptied the bag into the bowl and placed it onto the floor. The Colonel began to wolf down his food whilst Jason pulled a bowl and a cereal box. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and placed it into the bowl.

He placed them down on the table as he walked over to the fridge. He rather ungraciously sat back down at the table with the carton of milk.

It still surprised Sam how much Jason could eat. He got through four bowls and at least one cup of coffee with each.

He dumped his bowl and mug into the sink and cleared everything else  
away. Sam followed him out of the kitchen. Jason's high school was a good few miles away and, despite Jason being able to drive, Sam still drove him. On the occasions where Sam was on a hunt, Kevin or Charlie would drive him.

The school day had gone like it did every day. Contrary to what Sam had expected, Jason loved school. Or, rather, he loved learning. His favourite subject was English Literature. He did well in all of his subjects, of course, but English was where he really excelled.

He had settled incredibly well. He was well liked, which wasn't much of a surprise. Despite his rather intimidating appearance, Jason Todd had a heart of gold. He rarely, if ever, got into trouble. Sam and Dean had been called into his school once. They had been more proud than angry when they realised why. Jason had punched a boy in the face for harassing a girl. They had both stormed into the head's office. The boy was sitting with his parents, sporting a rather large black eye and nose bleed. Jason looked like he regretted absolutely nothing and the girl was glancing at him smiling slightly. The most amusing part of this story was that Jason was still tiny when this happened and the boy in question, was at least six foot and on the football team.

Once the issue had been dealt with, Jason and the boy had both been suspended for the week. Outside the principal's office, the girl had thanked him and kissed him on the cheek. Sam and Dean had teased him all the way home, but not before they stopped for ice cream.

Jason smiled as he recalled the memory. The school bell echoed behind him as he made his way into the parking lot. His eyes scanned the cars until they settled on the one he was looking for. A wicked smile spread across his face as an idea filled his mind.

Dean shrieked when Jason's hands hit the glass on the passenger side. He cackled as he slid in. Dean smacked the back of his head as the car pulled out. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm telling you, I'm too damn old to be scared like this. My heart could give out any damn time."

"You drama queen. You're barely forty." Jason deadpanned. "If anything else kills you, it ain't gonna be a heart attack. You'll probably die doing some stupid crap."

"I like the sound of that." Dean grinned. "So, what do you want today, ice cream or pie?"

"Both."

"Right answer."


	13. Hunteri Heroici

"How about this?" Jason said, spreading his newspaper out on the table. It was a rather gruesome image of a teenage girl suspended in the air by a piece of the chandelier through her chest. "A couple come home to find their babysitter impaled on their chandelier. Kids' were sound asleep. Didn't hear a thing."

"How is this our thing?" Sam asked, scrolling through his laptop.

"Said chandelier was at least thirty feet in the air," Jason replied. Sam closed his laptop and put it to the side.

"How'd she die?" Dean added, glancing at the highlighted article. "There isn't much blood."

"Oh, yeah, that's where it gets even weirder. COD was exsanguination, the babysitter was drained almost completely of her blood." Jason's finger hovered over the corresponding part of the article. "They found all of it, though. Seven jars of it in the locked basement."

"Oh, great. That's just-" Dean sighed. "Looks like we're heading to..."

"No," Dean answered. "Jace, we talked about this. You can't come with us."

"I have no idea what your problem is," Jason replied. "I could so pass off as an FBI agent."

He pulled a face in the mirror and Dean chuckled.  
"Sorry. When you don't look like such a frat boy." Dean ruffled Jason's hair. He looked like he was going argue with the 'frat boy' comment but one look in the mirror silenced him. For a while, at least.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Jason whined, throwing himself onto the couch. He undid his tie and launched it across the room. "Come on, Dean. I was willing to wear a tie for god's sake. A tie. You've gotta give me something."

"Ask around. See if anyone saw anything." Dean responded, doing his tie up. "Or," Jason perked up at this, "there's a store down the block. Feel free to get anything. Just don't blow our cover." Jason sighed dramatically and collapsed back. Dean smiled and threw his wallet to him.

"See ya, kid."

Jason waited until he heard the Impala leave before moving. He grabbed his coat, camera and press pass before running out of the door.

It had taken him a couple of minutes to run over to the crime scene, and another minute or two to catch his breath and compose himself. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the area.

"Guardian." He mouthed at a police officer who was looking at him, holding his pass up. The police officer eyed him carefully. She didn't look too sure of what to make of him. If he were older, she would have believed him without thinking about it but he couldn't have been any more than twenty.

"Ain't you a little young, honey?" She said eventually.

"No one else wanted to come, so here I am." He replied simply. The police officer shrugged and beckoned for him to follow her. As she turned, he caught a glimpse of her badge. _Officer Annabella Moore._

She led him through the house and into the dining room. The house itself was nice but, in Jason's opinion, hideously furnished. A wretched concoction of lace dollies, plaid wallpaper, a carpet, whose colour could only be described as _damp stain beige,_ and don't even get Jason started on the furniture.

They entered a dining room and Jason fought to keep his stoic facade firmly in place against the nausea bubbling against it. The scene was more gruesome than the photo in the local newspaper gave credit. The girl was hanging limply from the chandelier, blood streaked her blonde hair and covered the spike of metal through her chest.

"Poor girl." Officer Moore sighed. "Only reason she's still up there is they can't get her down." She clapped quite loudly and Jason very nearly jumped. "Anyway, if you need anything, you know where I'll be." She went back through the doorway.

From across the room, Jason could see Sam and Dean talking to a detective. Sam looked up and his eyes settled on him. Jason winked at Sam, who raised an eyebrow but then returned to the conversation.

Jason crouched behind a hideous dining chair and pulled out his camera. If he was here, he at least had to at least blend in. He walked over to who he assumed were the unlucky owners of the house.

"Jason Winchester. The Guardian." He introduced, putting a hand out in front of him. The woman reached for it and shook his hand.

"Harriet." She replied and then she turned to her husband. "And this is James."

James hadn't moved since Jason had approached them. His eyes hadn't even moved away from the corpse.

"My condolences," Jason added in. "But I was wondering if you could answer a couple of questions. If it's not too much."

Harriet swiped a hand over her eyes and nodded. "Of course."

"What happened when you first arrived in the house?" Jason had his notepad and pen at the ready.

"We got back a little after midnight. The house was quite, so we assumed that they were asleep." Harriet replied.

"What about when you found Sandra?"

"I was in the kitchen and James came in saying we had to call 911. He was hysterical, I thought that maybe he'd drank too much." Harriet's voice began to crack and Jason could see the oncoming wave of tears about to fall.

"Excuse me?"

Jason froze at the familiar voice that cut in. _Sam._

He slowly turned around Sam and Dean were stood right behind him. "Do you mind if we have a word?" Sam gestured to Jason.

"Actually," Jason was about to start but a pointed look from Dean stop him dead in his tracks. "Sure."

They walked off together and into another room. Jason didn't have to guess why. They couldn't scold him in there without blowing all of their covers.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean hissed.

Jason grinned sheepishly. "Asking around?" He shrugged.

Sam looked quite amused at the situation. Dean, on the other hand, not so much. "At the crime scene?" He exclaimed. "I told you to stay away."

"I just... wanted to be useful," Jason admitted. "I wanna help."

Dean sighed. "I know." He ran a hand over his face. He remembered being like this with John. Being so desperate for some kind of excitement that he'd disobey orders. However, unlike John, Dean would not blow up and scream. "I know and you are Jason. Trust me you are. It's just that..."

"You don't trust me." Jason finished.

"No!" Dean corrected. "No. I do. I just don't want to have to constantly keep an eye out for you. I don't want to have to worry about you."

"Oh." Jason sighed. "So what do we do about..." He waved his fake press pass.

"Just go back to the motel and wait," Dean replied, "When we get back we'll discuss this."

"Oh, okay," Jason muttered. He turned his laptop around to show Sam and Dean. He was still kind of bitter about the punishment. No dessert for three months. The monsters. "Apparently, the house has some pretty dark stuff surrounding it. In the 1800s it was owned by a wealthy family. And then, they were found dead. Kids were poisoned, mother stabbed to death, father throat slit, and the nanny was found hung from the chandelier. They were all buried under the house. More specifically, the basement."

"So what're you thinking?" Dean asked. "Father kills the family, then ganks himself?"

"Maybe... But it still doesn't explain why the father's ghost didn't kill the kids."

Jason groaned as he stood up again. He picked up his fireplace poker and stood ready to swing again.

The spirit threw him across the room again. This time he went through a bookshelf and a thin wall. The family protected in the salt circle screamed. He'd noticed they did that a lot and it started to annoy him. But he couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Poor idiots bought a house with a mass grave in their yard.

" _Be a hunter,_ they said. _It'll be fun,_ they said." He muttered, pulling himself to his feet. " _It'll only take a minute, Jason._ " It appeared again behind him and he swung at it. It dissipated. " _You'll be fine, Jason._ "

He swung angrily at it as it reappeared and clambered back through the hole that he, and the bookshelf, made in the wall. He waved at the family and they shrieked again. Jason rolled his eyes and made his way to his duffel bag. "If anyone in this godforsaken place should be screaming, it's me. I get thrown through all their ugly furniture and, they have the nerve to scream like they ain't in a damn salt circle." He pulled out his shotgun. It was oddly quiet.

A cold breeze went through the house. Gaps began appearing in the salt line. Jason sighed. "For the love of- I can't catch a break, can I?"

The ghost of the bloody nanny appeared in front of them with a malicious grin. As she stepped forward, a blur of black and grey tackled her to the ground.

She burst into flames and the figure that tackled her stood up. It was the father. He smiled at Jason before, he too disappeared into flames.


	14. I'm Coming Home

"Hey," Jason began, trying to sound as casual as he could, "would it be okay if, maybe, I take the next case by myself?"

Sam looked like he wasn't quite sure he'd heard Jason correctly and Dean almost choked on his coffee. Whilst Dean attempted to breathe normally, Sam answered Jason's question. "If you really want, then I don't see why not." Sam turned to Dean expectantly. "Right, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Dean's voice got gradually higher through his response. He coughed and attempted to correct himself. "I mean, you're nearly twenty so, yeah, why not."

Jason and Sam both gave Dean the same 'you are an absolutely terrible liar and we all know it' look. They both knew how protective Dean could be and how very so when it came to Jason. Having Jason go solo on a case was probably the last thing Dean wanted.

"Have you got a case in mind?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's internal meltdown.

"Uh, yeah, actually, there's this one vamp case in, um, Gotham." Jason showed Sam a newspaper article that he'd circled and annotated in red marker. Sam skimmed over it. It was a classic case of vampire killings and as much as Sam didn't want Jason to have to go back to Gotham, he had to admit that Gotham was the perfect place to train a hunter. Gotham city's crime was through the roof so the local authorities would never actually notice the vamp kills so they wouldn't get in the way and it had just enough 'crazies' for any experienced hunter to steer clear of it. Any seasoned hunter knew that a hunt in Gotham was most likely a useless attempt at something they should leave to the vigilantes that protected the city.

"Vamps." Sam nodded. "Good choice."

"When are you going?" Dean cut in. Jason looked quite surprised at Dean's acceptance of his request. "Look, I'll admit that I don't think you should go yet, but it's not my decision so if you want to go, then you should go."

"Really?" Dean nodded and a wide grin appeared on Jason's face. "Yes!" He jumped in the air and punched the air.

"Come on, Dean. I'll be fine." Jason reassured, throwing a couple more bags into the Impala's trunk.

"I know. I know." Dean muttered, passing Jason another bag. Charlie stretched up to wrap her arm around his shoulder. He crouched down slightly to allow her to do so more comfortably with their massive height difference. "Aw, my little zombie is going off into the world." She reminisced.

"Who are you calling little?"

Charlie ignored him and continued. "I remember when I was at least a foot taller than you. You were so small. Like an elf. Good times, good times."

"You going to hug me or what?" Charlie grinned and pulled him down into a hug. "You had better check in at least once a day or I swear..."

"Yes, ma'am" Jason mock-saluted Charlie and then knelt down in front of The Colonel. He placed his hand on the dog's head. "Look, C, I'm trusting you to make sure they don't mess up my room while I'm gone. And stay outta my wardrobe, I don't care if you don't approve of my fashion sense, stay out." The Colonel tilted his head to the side in false innocence. Jason sighed and absently rubbed his head. "Didn't think so. See you later, C."

Jason patted his head one last time, stood up, and then turned to Sam. "I'll call you when I get there." He grinned and Sam smiled back.

"You'd better." Jason hugged Sam and then walked over to Kevin.

"It's your job to make sure C doesn't eat my wardrobe." He said, placing a hand on Kevin's shoulder. Kevin nodded, he was the only other person in the bunker who The Colonel was somewhat well behaved with. With Sam or Charlie, he had the tendency to pretend he couldn't hear them and Dean swore that The Colonel would move his things around to irritate him. As of yet, no one had caught him do anything incriminating, and he had the habit of just appearing at the right moment and scaring the hell out of everyone.

"Just get back in one piece, okay? I don't want to have to deal with your ninja dog if you die." Kevin said, sounding like he really couldn't wait for Jason to come back already.

"Don't worry, Kev." Jason beamed. "It's vamps. Easy in-out job. I'll be back in a week or two tops."

"I guess." Kevin shrugged. Jason grinned and took the bags that Kevin was holding. He threw them into the Impala and Dean placed his hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Good luck, kid." He said. Jason turned and threw his arms around Dean.

"I know you don't want me doing this, but it's something I need to do, so thank you for not stopping me." Dean nodded at Jason's admission. They separated, but Dean still kept a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"See ya, Jason." Dean smiled. Jason grinned back. "You had better bring Baby back in one piece."

"You have nothing to worry about." Jason patted the Impala's hood and opened the door. He slid in and shut the door behind him. The engine drowned out Charlie shouting goodbye at him. Through the mirror, he could see them all waving and smiling at him as he drove away.

"Gotham city, here I come."


	15. Gotham

The batcave was quiet, the only noise was of keys being tapped and the occasional sound of Tim's coffee cup being set down. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The case was really getting to him. Bruce had told him to just let it go for now and to get some sleep. But he couldn't, the specifics of the case just stuck with him. Three victims, each went missing within two weeks of each other and each turned up a week after their disappearance, dead. COD was exsanguination, the vics were almost completely drained of blood via two small puncture wounds in their necks. Tim was almost tempted to blame vampires just so he could go to bed. Unfortunately, Tim was a reasonable, sane human being who knew that vampires don't exist. Neither did any other mythical creature, be they angels, or demons - the only exception that Tim would accept was Bruce's demon-spawn son, Damian.

Damian had been dumped on them by Talia, who claimed that Damian was Bruce's son and that because the little brat was apparently the heir of The League of Shadows he had to train with Bruce or whatever. He had only been here a couple of months and he had already driven Tim to the edge of breaking Bruce's 'one rule'. Tim obviously wouldn't actually kill the brat but if Damian's grapple line were to mysteriously snap mid-flight, he wouldn't question it. Bruce had made Damian Robin after a week, a week. Bruce wouldn't let him into the batcave for a year and the little brat gets to waltz around the manor, unmonitored and unsupervised. Don't even get Tim started on the little demon-spawn's attitude. Dick made the mistake of asking how things were going with Damian. Poor Nightwing got an hour long rant on the brat's arrogance and pure lack of respect toward anyone other than Bruce. Then, to add salt to the wound, Dick said something along the lines of 'he can't be that bad'.

Tim jumped when a hand rested on his shoulder. He heard Barbara laugh and he instantly relaxed. "How do you do that?" Tim muttered.

Barbara pushed herself further forward so her wheel-chair was in line with Tim's chair. "A magician never reveals their secrets." She winked at him and then looked at the computer screen. "Still working on the case, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Tim admitted. Barbara took the keyboard off of Tim, and closed all of the tabs Tim had opened. "Hey!"

Tim dived in an attempt to snatch the keyboard but Barbara kept it just out of his reach. "Tim, go to bed. You need sleep to function. Go. To. Bed."

"Fine." He gritted. Barbara escorted him to the elevator and they both got in. When they got to Tim's room, Barbara barged pasted him and picked his electronics off of his desk and placed them onto her lap. Tim was about to argue but a knowing look from Barbara silenced him. She left and shut the door behind her. Tim heard her say "Good night." and leave. He waited for a couple of minutes and then slowly cracked the door open.

"Nice try, Timbo. Sleep. Now."

Jason collapsed back onto the motel bed. He had arrived in Gotham a couple of hours ago and he already hated it. Nostalgia had blatantly clouded the cherished, and not so cherished, memories he once held of the city. Or perhaps he had hoped that in the almost six years he been absent, the city would have changed in some aspect. It most certainly had not. Gotham was still the same run down city that plagued Jason's past. He had spent the late hours of the night walking the darkened streets in attempts of sparking the love he had once felt for Gotham.

He had only returned when it began raining because as he remembered, it never rained in Gotham, it poured. Luckily he had arrived back at the motel before the complete downpour struck, but his clothes were still damp. Jason wanted to have been able to start investigating straight away, but the complete lack of energy he felt after the near week he spent doing nothing but pure driving, told him otherwise. He had decided that he would sleep and officially begin the case tomorrow. His eyes were drifting shut when his phone went off. He glanced at it, Charlie. _Oh, crap._ He'd completely forgotten.

Boy, was he in for it.


	16. Dick Grayson

The morning had gone as well as expected. Jason had woken up feeling like death. After thoroughly rooting around through the cabinets, Jason was very disappointed to find he had absolutely no food, whatsoever. And more importantly, he had no coffee.

Deciding this was unacceptable, he planned on shopping for some basic things later, but right now, his main concern was what he would eat right now. Jason had spotted a coffee shop on his walk around Gotham and was already planning the most efficient route possible. He slung his bag over his shoulder, slammed the door behind him and started the Impala.

Dick Grayson had worked for the GCPD for about a year and, at the age of 26, was the youngest officer on the force. He actually lived in Bludhaven, so every morning he would drive up to Gotham and stop off at the same coffee place in central Gotham before walking over to the Gotham PD headquarters.

He stopped his motorcycle in the carpark and walked inside. He ordered his usual and glanced around. It was normally pretty full at this time in the morning, and today was definitely not any different. The only free seat was opposite a pretty interesting looking nineteen year old in a black shirt, and jeans sat in the corner.

He had short, black hair that was just an unruly mess with a streak of white that was significantly longer than the rest and hung slightly. His eyes were this bright shade of teal that were almost overflowing with intelligence. He was probably about 6'2 or more- so definitely taller than Bruce was. He actually reminded Dick of Bruce in some aspects. They both had similar sharp, angular features. The boy sat with this little air of self-confidence that Dick had only ever seen in Bruce. There were things about the boy that was familiar, not something he linked to Bruce, but he couldn't help but shake the feeling that he recognised the boy from somewhere.

He walked over to his table. "Hey." He began. The boy looked up and his eyes widened slightly. Dick assumed it was because of his police uniform so thought nothing of it. "Is this seat free?"

"Uh-uh, yeah." The boy coughed awkwardly and corrected himself. "Yeah."

Dick sat down and the boy tried to return to his book, Pride and Prejudice. They both sat in an uncomfortable silence and Dick tried his hardest not to look up whenever he felt the boy's eyes on him. Eventually, Dick had had enough. He looked up and the boy instantly looked away. Dick put on his friendliest smile and addressed him.

"Hi, my name's Dick Grayson." The boy looked pretty reluctant to reply.

"Uh, Jason." The boy hesitated slightly before adding, "Jason Winchester."

Jason internally cheered when Dick ended the conversation and left, saying something about being late for work. Of all the goddamn coffee shops in Gotham, Jason just had have been in the one that Dick Grayson frequented. He'd panicked when Dick had first approached him. He hadn't seen Dick in nearly six years and while he knew he couldn't possibly go into Gotham without hearing or catching glimpses of Gotham's illustrious white knight, Bruce Wayne, he had honestly thought he could avoid any other member of his old 'family'.

Their conversation bothered him a lot more than he cared to admit. Seeing Dick again had really unnerved him. One thing that had really gotten him fired up during the conversation was the way Dick had talked about Tim Drake. He had struggled to keep his face and body language impassive when Dick had first mentioned Jason's replacement. Dick had talked about Tim so proudly and had even boasted about how Tim was set to inherit Wayne Enterprises.

It wasn't what Dick actually said or how he said it, it was more about who. When Jason had been Robin, Dick had only ever been courteous because he had to be. Bruce had insisted that the two at least try to get along but honestly, this idea had resulted in little more than the two grating against each other until a snide comment from one would cause the other to lose it and storm off. Although Dick would never say it to his face, Jason was more than aware of what his predecessor felt about him. Not only was it heavily implied in the way Dick would behave around him, Jason had the misfortune of overhearing several of Dick's complaints about him to Bruce. He's too reckless, too violent. It's only a matter of time before he goes too far.

It wasn't like Jason didn't agree. Dick wasn't wrong in saying that Jason could be careless at times. He knew he would never live up to the pristine reputation left by Dick, and honestly, he couldn't have cared less. What really bothered him was the fact that everyone seemed to think that nothing else mattered when it came to Jason. Well, Barb and Alfie didn't but that wasn't important at the time.

Every single article that had followed after Jason's adoption (Jason was very fond of hinting to the fact that Bruce had officially adopted him first), would compare him to Dick in some shape or form. It was very obvious, to Jason at least - Bruce insisted that Jason was overthinking it, that Dick reveled in the fact that everyone had made him the standard that Jason had to meet.

When Dick talked about Tim, there was this little glint of fondness in his eyes. Dick was proud to call Tim his little brother. Jason couldn't help but feel jealous. Jason couldn't actually recall a single moment where Dick had talked about him even remotely like that. He could remember dozens of times when Alfred and Barbara - even a handful with Bruce - had looked at him with the same proud expression that Dick had had when he talked about Tim.

Jason just felt a longing for a life he'd never have the chance to experience.


	17. The World's Greatest Detective

Tim pressed the rewind button on the remote and the recording restarted. Another victim had been taken, but this time they had footage. It was, much to Tim's dismay, an absolutely terribly quality recording. Luckily Barbara had worked her magic and the video was slightly less of a pixelated mess.

The video showed a woman getting out of her car, being jumped by a gang of people and dragged into away. They hadn't been wearing any masks or hoods, which had actually surprised Tim quite a bit, but the video was too distorted to make out any faces. As of yet, Tim had counted 14 people, six women and eight men. He honestly thought one of them was a child but he had instantly pushed that thought away.

He loosened his school tie and leaned back in his chair as the tape began again. His Gotham Academy blazer had been slung over his bed along with his bag. Tim had attended Gotham Academy for nearly five years, since Bruce had officially adopted him after his parents had died. At age seventeen, he was now a senior and was very close to being able to work at Wayne Enterprises with Bruce full time. He visited WE enough times for Bruce to have already given him his own office. Damian was pretty angry when he'd found out that Tim would inherit WE instead of him. Tim had found Damian's fit hilarious until the lamp had been thrown.

Tim smiled absently at the memory of Alfred walking in and quite disdainfully looking between Damian and the shards of the antique lamp. The augmented screams of the woman in the recording snapped him out of his trance. Someone had hacked into the security camera system and messed with the audio and quality of the recording. Tim assumed that the gang had been responsible. Barbara was trying to locate the exact position of the hacker, as of yet, she had narrowed it down to somewhere in Gotham. She said the amount of sophistication in the hacking methods used indicated that the gang was probably well connected.

"Yeah, it worked."

 _"Of course it did. I was the one telling what to do."_ Jason smiled at Charlie's comment.

"I don't know how I'd ever live without you, Charlie." Jason replied.

 _"Me neither. It's a miracle you've lived this long on your own."_ Charlie laughed on the other end of the line.

Jason chuckled along with her. "How's everything going back there?"

 _"Good. Good. Sam and Dean are on a hunt. I'm pretty sure it was a ghost. Kevin went to go see his mom, said something about not being able to handle your demon-dog."_ Charlie sounded quite amused at the last part.

"Has C eaten any of my clothes yet?" Jason was only half-joking. It was't the first time The Colonel had done this. The first time Jason had gone on a hunt with Sam and Dean, he had come back to find half of his wardrobe in shreds all over his room with C sat proudly in the on his bed, admiring his handiwork.

"Not yet. I think he's waiting for you to come back before he... Hey! Wait! What are you doing? Get back here with that!" Charlie cut herself off to shout something. Presumably at The Colonel. "Bye, Jace. I gotta go." Charlie hung up. Jason smile at the thought of Charlie chasing C around the bunker. He probably had one of Jason's shirts. Apparently C didn't like very many of Jason's shirts. Jason wasn't going to take fashion advice from his dog but, he was seriously considering just moving all of his clothes somewhere else.

He sat back down on the motel bed. A couple of coloured push pins held a map of Gotham to his wall. So far, he had tried to gather new information and had come to two conclusions. One, the vampire nest was probably only a dozen or so vamps so wasn't anything to challenging for him. Two, Bruce and co. had caught wind of the killings and were investigating. Jason had been walking around Crime Alley, asking any prostitutes that he saw whether or not they'd seen anything, when he'd stumbled upon a crime scene.

Everything was a mess of police tape and spotlights. Somewhere in the crowds of police officers he had seen Bruce, in full Batman gear, talking to Commissioner Gordon and another officer who Jason thought was Dick, but he couldn't have been sure. Not only that, stood right next to Batman was Robin. He looked to short and young to be Tim. Jason had done the calculations, Tim was only two years younger than he was and about 5'11. This kid looked no older than 10 and looked absolutely tiny next to Batman. He had read somewhere about Bruce having an actual son, but he assumed that it was all gossip. Apparently, not.

The boy looked more comfortable being on a crime scene than Jason had ever felt. His outfit was almost unrecognisable compared to what he had to where. For starters, he didn't have those hideous, scaly green shorts. Sure he hadn't had to wear them for very long, only until the rest of Jason's costume had been made, but a week is more than enough to mentally scar someone. Jason noticed something strapped to Robins back and police officers kept glancing at it nervously. It was a sword.

Bruce let a freaking ten year old carry around a sword and fight crime. The guy really was losing it in his old age. Next thing you know, he'll be letting Robin drive.

Jason ducked into the shadows when Bruce looked in his direction. He decided that then would be the perfect opportunity to leave. He couldn't be certain whether Bruce had seen him or not, but he wasn't going to risk it. Slipping into a nearby alley, Jason escaped, unseen and unnoticed by almost all.


	18. Criminal

Bruce glared at his screen slightly, he had some feeling of recognition but he couldn't quite place it. He had review the tapes from the crime scene dozens of times until he had finally seen it. Someone hidden in the corner of the west end.

The camera had caught enough of the person's face for Bruce to run it through facial recognition. It had come up with nothing. Absolutely nothing, this was what had sparked Bruce's interest. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen that face before.

He turned when he heard the elevator whirring behind him. The doors slid open and Dick stepped out. He had an irritatingly bright smile on his face and his fingers were hooked into his belt.

"Hey, B." He greeted, walking over to where Bruce was. "What'cha doing?"

"Looking over the security tapes from the crime scene." Bruce responded roughly, not looking up. Dick nodded in understanding.

"Is this about the person you thought you saw?" Dick asked, leaning on the top of Bruce's chair.

"I did see someone, Dick." Bruce replied, handing him the video frames he had printed out. "But, I've ran the image through every facial recognition software I can find and I'm coming up empty. I've run this face against almost every living person in the country." Dick examined the photo and frowned.

"I recognise this person." He mumbled, bringing the photo closer to his face. "I spoke to him in the coffee shop across from the station. He said his name was Jason..." Dick clicked his fingers as he tried to recall his surname. "Winchester. Jason Winchester."

Bruce was already typing the name into the computer. It came up with one result. He sighed. "What is it?" Dick asked.

"It's a fake name." The records only went back five years. Jason Winchester had attended a high school somewhere in Lebanon, Kansas. No mention of any official parents, though the school had listed two phone numbers as emergency contacts.

"Dean and Sam Winchester." Dick read out. "Sounds familiar."

"It should." Bruce brought another page. There were two photos in the centre. Both were of men stood in a prison line up, holding boards with their details on it. The first man was 6'1", with short, blonde hair and he was pouting at the camera. The other man was much taller, around 6'3" and had longer, darker hair. He didn't look as happy to be there as the other man did. Both their boards read the same thing,

81A3827 LITTLE ROCK CITY POLICE

LITTLE ROCK A.R

"Sam and Dean Winchester." Bruce gestured to the images and read out the list below them. "Wanted for murder, mass murder, kidnapping, grand theft auto, arson, assaulting several police officers, escaping prison, desecration of graves, desecration of corpses, breaking and entering, credit card fraud, and impersonating the FBI, the CIA, Homeland Security, the CDC, and local authorities. They have been presumed dead several times."

Dick whistled, and raised his eyebrows."Wow. So do you think they have anything to do with this?"

"Maybe..."

It had taken Barbara a week and a half to track the location. It was a motel on the outskirts of Gotham. Barbara insisted that the hacker was probably experienced enough to at least move to another location in Gotham probably even another city. Bruce on the other hand was very adamant on checking, Tim had tagged along because a break in the case was something he couldn't miss, no matter how improbable.

As it turned out, it was a decision that had panned out. The motel was a complete bust, but that wasn't important after what they'd found out. The owner had recalled someone staying in one of the motel rooms that matched the description they had given. They had been gone for over a week, but the owner did remember them mentioning something about a more permanent location. Which meant that Jason Winchester was still in Gotham. And Bruce was going to find him.


	19. My Hero

It was nearly a week before Bruce had caught a glimpse of the elusive Jason Winchester again and it had been a complete and utter accident. He had been on his way to help Robin with a robbery when he had spotted Jason. The signature streak of white hair had caught his eye. He was in jeans and a hoodie, both of which were covered in blood splatters and, in some places, dripping. In both his hands were, at least it was what they looked like, blood-covered machetes. He was breathing heavily, each breath appeared as a pale white vapour in front of his face.

He dropped down from the building behind Jason as he made his way down the empty street toward a dark car. Bruce pressed a button in his belt and marked his location to come back to it later. Jason must have heard him because he had bolted down the street, dropping both of his weapons. Batman sprinted after him.

Jason was surprisingly fast and Bruce actually had trouble keeping up with him. And when he had rounded a corner, only to find the following alley empty, he was sure he'd lost him. Then he'd heard the yelling.

A block away he found Jason. Pinned to the ground by a snarling, beastly looking creature. Jason was struggling with what looked like a knife. Batman pulled out a Batarang and threw it at the monster. It bounced harmlessly off its back and the creature stopped snarling. Slowly turned to face him.

Its face was covered in wiry hair with patches of pale skin underneath. It had a muzzle similar to that of a dog, but its eyes were almost... human. It had shreds of clothing covering parts of its body. The monster let out a howl and charged at Bruce. He barely had enough time to dive out of the way. It charged at him again and again. Each time Bruce reacted slower until the beast had him pinned to the ground.

It snapped, and snarled, at him and he could barely manage to hold it back. Bruce could feel it clawing at his legs and chest, and its weight was slowly crushing him. He could feel his ribs cracking under the pressure.

Suddenly, it let out a yelp and collapsed on top of him. He could barely breathe and felt light-headed. He could make out the silhouette of a person stood above him. They hesitated slightly before reaching down and grabbed him, somewhat carefully lifting him up. Bruce heard them groan as they adjusted to his weight and then a breathless voice said, "Jeez, do us all a favour and lay off the bat doughnuts."

Bruce must have passed out whilst because the next thing he remembered was the sound of an engine followed by a hasty, "Try not to bleed out back there, hey? Dean'll kill me."

The voice was oddly familiar and profoundly comforting. Bruce couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and he blacked out.

Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Bruce's unconscious form and sighed. He'd changed the Batman costume since the last time he'd seen it. It was darker and better armoured. The kevlar plates had been made thicker and had been redesigned, probably to allow better mobility. Bruce's belt looked like it carried far more dangerous weaponry. Even with the gaping slashes across his chest that were bleeding profusely, Bruce still looked absolutely terrifying.

Jason still was unsure why he had brought Bruce into the Impala. He should have just left him and Gotham in the dust. Bruce'd have given up on looking for him and his return would have remained a mystery. Perhaps, to soothe his conscience, he would have activated the emergency signal and Dick or whoever would have collected him. He really didn't understand it, all he knew was that he had to come up with one hell of an explanation for when he arrived at Wayne Manor.


	20. Jason Todd?

It had taken Jason ten minutes to drive to Wayne Manor. He would have gotten there faster, but his memory of Gotham wasn't exactly the best. He remembered the streets of Crime Alley like the back of his hand. The bitter nights he had spent there ensured it. But the rest of Gotham was still blurry.

Once he had arrived there, he had spent a second or two just stood outside the manor gates looking at the place he had once called home. There was a single light on. In the darkness that surrounded him, it didn't look like much had changed. It was still the same dauntingly tall building, with the same gardens encasing it. Jason remembered how he felt the first time he'd been brought here. Awestruck, and like the air had been knocked from him. He'd completely froze and it wasn't until he'd heard Bruce chuckle amusedly, that he'd regained words.

He honestly couldn't imagine how different it must be inside. Nearly six years had passed and the manor had two new residents.

Jason frowned at that. He glanced into the Impala window. Bruce was still out like a light. As much as he wanted to, Jason wasn't just going to leave him. He still held enough respect for Bruce to owe him that at the least. Despite the pulling at his chest, he felt whenever Jason thought of his old life, some part of him had really hoped that he could have the chance to see his 'family' again. The other part wanted to dump Bruce on the doorstep and leave. But this was something he wanted, needed, to do.

Bruce stirred when Jason pulled him out of the Impala. Jason really hoped he wouldn't wake up. He dragged Bruce up the stone steps and he hesitated. This was his last chance to turn around, go back home, and pretend that none of this ever happened. But he wasn't about to do that. Jason took a deep breath and knocked on the wood.

A minute or two later, the door was unlocked and opened. A boy, around Jason's age though clearly younger, was stood in the doorway. He gasped when he saw Bruce and instantly stood aside to let them through. Jason struggled over to a couch and dropped Bruce onto it, before sitting down on the coffee table. He groaned as he felt a sharp pain in his sides. Broken ribs, definitely, and probably some cuts that needed stitches.

Jason recognised the room as the one that galas would be held in. It was still pretty much the same absolutely gigantic room that was probably twice the size of the apartment he had lived in when he was younger. The room looked exactly the same as it had when Jason had lived there. Everything from the décor to the arrangement of the furniture. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and illuminated the expanse of the room.

Now that he was in the light, Jason had a much better view of the boy who'd let them in. He was a lot shorter than Jason was. Much skinnier too, not scrawny though, there was definitely some muscle there. The suit he was in probably cost more than Jason had ever been in possession of in his entire life. Jason assumed that this was his replacement, Timothy Drake.

Black hair, blue eyes, Jason noted. Bruce really did have a type.

Honestly, any other time Jason would have been at the kid's throat in a heartbeat, but right now, he barely had enough energy keep his eyes open. Jason wasn't really sure about how he felt now that he was actually in front of the person Bruce had replaced him with. Whenever he had thought of the topic, it had angered him greatly and he'd spend at least an hour in the target room, letting off steam. He had promised himself that if he ever came across Timothy Drake, he'd kill him. But, now that the kid was right in front of him, Jason really couldn't bring himself to reach for his gun.

He'd been so angry at Bruce for replacing him, that he'd never even tried to consider Bruce's side of the story. Bruce had been broken by Jason's death, but he had to move on. Jason wasn't really sure who he was angry at any more. Sure he had been mad at Bruce for replacing him, and Tim for being the person who replaced him, but once the anger had subsided, Jason was angry with one person and one person only. Himself.

He constantly berated himself for not being good enough, for getting himself killed. Whenever Jason saw photos of Bruce and Tim, he saw Bruce with a better partner, a better soldier, a better son. He hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn't help telling himself that Bruce was better off without him.

Maybe that was why Jason had loved every second he had spent with the Winchesters so much; because he hadn't felt like he had to prove that he was worthy of being there, he didn't have to compete for their affection and attention with someone who would always have the upper hand. They had always made sure he knew that he was cared for, that he was loved, that he was family. And he had never doubted it. Not once.

In his old life, Jason had suffered from periods of feeling like he didn't belong in Bruce's 'world'. That he didn't deserve the luxury and wealth that chance had brought him. No matter how much Bruce, or Alfred, or Barbara had tried to convince him that he _did_ deserve this, he couldn't shake the feeling of being different.

He'd see Dick at an event and feel envious. Dick had assimilated into the lifestyle so well that you'd never even consider that he hadn't grown up in it. Jason hated the spotlight that Bruce's wealth had cast on him. He hated the attention of the media, he hated the whispers and stares that made him feel worthless.

Tim, Jason noticed, hadn't moved from the spot and his hand was still gripping the side of the door. His eyes were flickering from Jason to Bruce and back. "You gonna stand there or what?" Jason snapped, lifting the side of his hoodie up to examine his ribs. Without a word, Tim nodded absently and strode out the room.

Jason ran his hand over the left side of his ribcage and felt blood as his fingertips grazed over a cut. He thought back to the attack, he'd had just managed to lose Bruce when a werewolf had come out of nowhere. He had been careful to make sure that it hadn't bit him, but he couldn't be sure it had turned Bruce. Jason glanced back at Bruce, he was shifting slightly and Jason really didn't like the thought of him waking up. Especially if he had been turned.

Jason would have no other choice than to kill him. He doubted that anyone in the house would believe him if he told them why. Actually, he doubted they believe him about anything. If it came down to it, Jason decided he wouldn't tell them about who he really was. I t didn't seem like they'd figured it out anyway. Dick hadn't noticed, Bruce hadn't, so the chances of anyone else recognising him was low. What would he tell them anyway?

 _Hey, I actually haven't been dead for six years. I was adopted by a group of wanted criminals and now I hunt monsters for a living._ Like that would go down even remotely well with anyone. Bruce'd probably throw him in a mental hospital. Boy, he was not looking forward to when they found what was left of the vampire nest. That was going to be very difficult to explain, especially if they didn't believe the whole 'monster' thing. He'd get thrown into Arkham for sure.

Jason was snapped away from his train of thought when he heard footsteps. He heard the distinctly stoic voice of Alfred and could feel himself tearing up inside. The door was opened and Tim stepped through first. Alfred followed after.

Jason's head snapped up when the tray of medical supplies crashed against the floor. Alfred was staring him with a look of absolute shock on his face. "Master Jason..."

Jason grinned sheepishly. "Hey, Alfie."


	21. Carry On My Wayward Son

"Hey, Alfie."

Alfred stood, frozen on the spot, for a couple of seconds. He couldn't believe it, Jason, _his_ Jason. The Jason who had followed on his heels like a puppy, hanging on his every word. The Jason who had begged him to let him help him in the kitchen. The Jason he had taught to read and write. The Jason who he had read classic fiction to everyday. The Jason who had spent hours running around the batcave in his Robin costume, grinning like the devil. The Jason who would blabber about his night whilst he tended to his wounds. The Jason who had died. The Jason he had buried. Standing right in front of him. No. It couldn't be. Alfred... Alfred had carried his coffin, watched as they buried him. He'd placed flowers on his grave on his birthday and tended to the weeds. On bad days Alfred had sat beside his gravestone, for hours at a time, and just talked. He knew it was a foolish endeavour but it had honestly helped. He felt some comfort in still being able to talk to Jason, even if he could never answer. Was this really his Jason?

He had to be dreaming again. The second he touched Jason, he would evaporate into thin air and he would wake up, doomed to spend the rest of the night staring at Jason's memorial, echoing the phone call from Bruce in his head. 'He killed him, Alfred. I couldn't stop him. Jason, he's gone.'

After receiving that call, Alfred had stood paralysed by the thought. He'd never see Jason again. He'd never hear Jason's million and one questions he always had to ask. The boy he had come to love like a son was gone.

Jason had only been a boy when he died. He'd still hide behind Alfred's coat-tails during parties. This was the version of Jason Alfred would dream of. A fourteen year old with electric blue eyes and unruly black hair. Never had he ever seen Jason as any older than he had been before his death. He'd seen every variation in between, from the arrogant child who had first set foot in the manor, to the sweet young man who had left it. The Jason stood before him, however, was most certainly not a fourteen year old. He looked at least nineteen and every bit like Jason had.

Admittedly, the white streak that ran through significantly more tamed hair was slightly different to what he remembered, and his eyes were a shade or two closer to green. The intelligence that was behind them screamed Jason. This gave Alfred a spark of hope that he knew he'd more likely than not regret. He had to be real. There was no doubt in Alfred's mind. This was his Jason.

Jason stood and rubbed the back of his neck. He seemed just as uncomfortable with the situation as Alfred was stunned. Alfred snapped out of his stupor and strode across the room and embraced Jason. Jason tensed but relented. "I missed you too." He mumbled into Alfred's shoulder. It was true. Out of everyone in the family, Jason genuinely had missed Alfred the most.

Alfred had been the one Jason had spent the most time with. Bruce had been busy with Wayne Enterprises, Dick didn't come round too often now that he was there, and Barbara had tried to visit as often as she could but, in the long days Jason would spend in the manor, Alfred was the person Jason would spend them with.

He would trail around the manor with Alfred as he went about his daily jobs, offering help whenever he could. _'Oh, can I help, Alfie? Huh? Can I? Can I?'_

Jason had been a very clumsy child, but Alfred appreciated the help. Even if it meant that he had to occasionally clean up the remnants of china plates. The area that Jason had been particularly proficient in was cooking. He had to provide for himself and his mother in every way. And this meant that from a very young age Jason had to learn how to cook. His method of cooking was very different to Alfred's, however.

Jason's was more 'throw it all in and hope for the best'. Whilst it lacked the finesse and precision that Alfred was accustomed to, there had been a lot of potential. Especially if compared to Dick. Alfred was almost certain that until he had been taken into the manor, Dick had no idea how his meal had made their way to his plate. He hadn't taken to the idea of cooking very well either. The whole process seemed to bore the very energetic child.

Jason, on the other hand, had taken to cooking like a duck to water. Sure, he had the tendency to get frustrated when things didn't go right, but, with enough encouragement, Jason had produced some very impressive dishes. He was particularly fond of pie. _'Pie's a good, reliable food. You've gotta admit it, Alf. Anything you can have for dinner and desert is something to behold.'_

Alfred pulled away and looked up at Jason, examining him. "It really is you, Master Jason. But, how?" The expression Alfred held was a mixture of amazement and joy, all thinly masked by the butler's stoic nature.

"Long, long story," Jason replied, "I'll tell you all of it, I promise. But you should probably help Bruce. He isn't looking to good. And, when you're done with that, I have a couple of things that need looking at."

Alfred smiled. "Yes, Master Jason."


	22. The Suspense Is Killing Me

Alfred crouched down and picked up the medical supplies, placing them neatly back onto the silver tray. He walked over to Jason and shooed him off of the coffee table. "So," Jason began, settling down carefully onto an armchair, "what's gonna happen when he wakes up?"

"You needn't worry, Master Jason. I will handle Master Bruce." Alfred replied, not looking back from his work. He had taken off Bruce's cowl and Jason couldn't help staring. Bruce looked so much older. The hard lines on his face showed how much he had aged in such a short space. Protecting Gotham must have really taken its toll. Seeing Bruce's face was really making Jason uneasy. He could feel the memories resurfacing.

"Thanks, Alf." He coughed, looking away.

"You are very welcome, Master Jason."

Jason tried to focus on anything other than Bruce or the sharp pain in his side he felt if he moved too suddenly. Tim was stood by the door and he looked away after Jason had caught him staring.

Tim couldn't believe it. Jason. That Jason. The Jason Todd he had idolised, both as Robin and not. As Robin, Jason had done something that Dick hadn't. He'd become more than just a hero, he had been relatable. But as Jason Todd, he had inspired Tim so much more.

All his life, Tim had been raised in the life of an upper-class only child. His parents hadn't been there very much, and Tim had often been convinced that they forgot he had existed. He had spent much of his childhood with his nanny and the children of his parents' friends. They had had no problem with telling him one thing: the only important thing was what other people thought of you. This was obvious in how his parents would flaunt him to the press and boast about his intelligence to their group of equally shallow friends. Tim's parents abhorred anything that brought their reputation down even slightly. They often complained about anyone or anything that they deemed 'unworthy' of being near them.

Enter Jason Todd, who had an entirely different philosophy. Tim couldn't help being intrigued, he had never seen anyone who wasn't concerned with what everyone else thought. Add in the fact that his parents had compared Jason to the dirt on the bottom of their shoes on multiple occasions and Tim just couldn't resist. Unfortunately, Tim never had the chance to meet Jason. His parents refused to let him anywhere near, even if this meant that they couldn't socialise with the illustrious Bruce Wayne. Tim had caught the occasional glimpse of Jason at the various galas and charity events his parents would parade him in. Most of the time he was stood by Bruce Wayne trying to discretely remove his tie before being scolded, only to try again several minutes later. Those moments were what brought a little spark of joy to the otherwise dreadful events.

And then Jason had disappeared. No one else seemed to notice but Tim. He had also noticed that Robin had vanished too. He had found it strange but shrugged it off as a coincidence. Until Jason and Robin had both returned to Gotham in body bags in the same week. Robin didn't get a funeral, for obvious reasons, but Jason did. Closed casket. The story had been that he was studying abroad, kidnapped, ransomed and then killed by his capturers. It had taken him less than a day to make the connection. Jason was Robin. Which, by extension, made Bruce Wayne Batman.

Tim had waited for the right time to confront Bruce. It had been a couple months since Jason's funeral, but Bruce had still seemed pretty torn up over it. Even now, Tim would still catch Bruce staring blankly at Jason's memorial. He could only imagine how Bruce would take Jason's seeming resurrection.


	23. Finally

Bruce had woken up some time later and it had honestly not gone well. It went really, really, _really_ badly. He had marched up to Jason the second he had seen him, pinned him to the wall, and snarled, "I am going to give you one chance to tell me who you are and how you know my identity." He had his forearm pressed across Jason's chest and was slowly applying more and more pressure. Jason tried to push him off but Bruce had the dynamic advantage in this situation. Bruce pushed down even harder and repeated his question.

Jason didn't answer and quite forcefully head-butted Bruce, sending him stumbling backwards. Alfred had been about to step in to diffuse the situation when Bruce had recoiled, only to lunge forward again, grabbing Jason's sleeve and throwing him back into the wall. Jason crumpled against it and fell to the floor. Bruce had yet again leapt forward, to try to get on top of him. He managed to turn dive out of the way just in the nick of time. Bruce climbed onto him and began showering punches down on him as he tried to struggle free.

Tim and Alfred both rushed over to pry Bruce off of Jason. Bruce had fought against them until Alfred had said in a very firm voice, "That is enough, Master Bruce. You need to allow us to explain." He stopped and stood up, shaking them off. He glared at Jason.

"Who are you?"

Jason ran his tongue over his teeth, checking that Bruce hadn't dislodged any. "I'm surprised you haven't recognised me."

"We've never met before," Bruce argued. Alfred placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder just in case he went for Jason again. "How could I possibly recognise you?"

Jason sighed and stepped closer. Bruce moved back, defensively bringing his arm out to push Alfred and Tim back further. _Did he really think that Jason would hurt them?_

"Ouch." He rubbed an imaginary injury. "You wound me, Bruce." Bruce stiffened at the mention of his name. Jason shrugged it off and began pacing. "Then again, Goldie didn't either. I even had a damn conversation with him. Well, it was more one sided than anything, really. You know how talkative Dickie can get, especially to strangers. He practically told me his entire life story." Jason stopped speaking as he recalled the memory." It was nice though. Getting to hear about the family and all." Jason paused for a moment to examine Bruce's reaction. Nothing. "I heard you have a kid. An actual kid. Damian, right? With Talia? _See, I told you she had the hots for you, Boss_." This single sentence sparked Bruce's memory. He had been in the batcave with Robin practising kicks behind him.

 _'Would you ever date Talia?" Robin asked, Bruce glanced up from the computer to look at him._

 _"No. Talia and I are just working together for this case. When it's over she'll go back to the League Of Shadows' base. "_

 _"Well," Robin argued back, throwing another kick into the air, "isn't that even more of a reason to go for it?"_

 _"It's unprofessional."_

 _'So? Personally, I don't see why you don't just go in for the kill. You obviously have a thing for her, and she clearly has the hots for you and I'm over here drowning in the sexual tension."_

 _"Isn't it time you went to sleep?"_

 _"It's actually kinda disturbing. Far worse than you and Selena," Robin continued, ignoring Bruce's implied command. By this point he had stopped training and was now pacing the sparring mat._

 _"Go to bed."_

 _"I mean I like Selena and all, it's just seeing you two go at it - you with anyone really- is sickening. Not that I don't want you to be happy an' stuff. I just think that I," he paused before adding," and you," he nodded thoughtfully at this and continued," would be far happier if you stopped dancing around each other and just fu-"_

 _"Bed. Now."_

 _"I'm just sayin', Boss." Robin grinned, walking away. He shouted 'goodnight' over his shoulder as he stepped into the elevator._

A faint smile ghosted across Bruce's face at the memory. Jason smiled too. Bruce finally recognised him. He could see it in his eyes. A little glint that Jason couldn't quite decode. Somewhere between sadness and a happy reminiscence. Then it struck him, Bruce was replaying the same memory too. He felt Bruce's calculating gaze rake over his face. He knew just how different he looked compared to when Bruce had last seen him. To be fair on Bruce, he had been dead the last time Bruce had seen him. He could still almost physically feel him picking out the similarities.

He wanted to hear him say it. Jason wanted to hear Bruce say his name. "Jason..."

Jason grinned wickedly. "Finally." He wasn't sure what pleased him the most - the fact that Bruce had finally recognised him or the absolutely hopeless look on his face as he tried to rationalise the situation. Jason could almost see the light bulb go off above his head when he came to a conclusion. He followed Bruce's eye line up to the streak of white in his hair. "The Lazarus Pit." He waited patiently until Bruce made the next connection. "The League Of Shadows." His eyes flickered down to meet Jason's, looking for some sign of approval. Jason simply shrugged. He wanted to see how far Bruce's deductions would go without his interference. As of yet, he wasn't far off. There was absolutely no chance of Bruce drawing the line from Jason's miraculous resurrection to the Winchesters or the world of hunting. So that made two things he'd eventually have to fill Bruce in on, and he would, just not right now. He was having fun watching Bruce struggle to fill in the blanks.

Alfred and Tim watched the exchange silently. They were both more than happy to observe passively whilst the conversation ensued. Tim frowned as he tried to slot the new pieces of the information into the story he knew. Jason would have had to of come back within at least six months of his funeral. The age gap that had always existed between them seemed to still be intact, so he couldn't have been dead for that long. If it had been any later than six months, the grass on his grave wouldn't have had enough time to grow back and Alfred would have definitely noticed that the grave had been disturbed.

"You were with the League Of Shadows?" Bruce muttered. He had noticed that when Talia had last visited him, she'd given him these pitying sideways glances. He'd dismissed it. But now? Had she known? Bruce chided himself for thinking something so blatantly obvious, Of course she knew. How could she not? The real question was why hadn't she told him? If Jason had been with the League this entire time, why hadn't she told him?

Jason shook his head. "And you were doing so well." He shrugged and stepped forward again, testing the waters. Bruce didn't move back this time. Jason continued the conversation and began to move forward without making it seem too obvious. "Didn't stay there that long. Maybe a couple of hours. I don't really remember much, it was years ago." Bruce looked like he was going to interrupt but Jason stopped him, anticipating the question, "No. I wasn't alone."

Bruce was relieved by this. Jason had spent more of his childhood having to take care of himself than any child should ever of have to. When Bruce had adopted him, he promised Jason he would never have to worry about where his next meal came from ever again. The prospect of Jason having to struggle and fight to survive again was terrifying. At the very least, it meant that Jason had had somewhere to stay and friends. But this didn't explain why he was here.

"Then why are you here?" Something flickered across Jason's face. Bruce just managed to catch it. _Hurt._ Jason was upset at what the question implied. _What makes you think that you're wanted here?_ "If you had a life outside of Gotham, why would you come back?" Bruce corrected. Jason pulled a face.

"It's, well, complicated," Jason summarised. "Let's just leave it at that, for now."

Bruce looked like he was going to press Jason for details, but a pointed look from Alfred made him drop it. Alfred cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Master Dick and Master Damian should return at any moment. Do you wish to see them or would you prefer to rest, Master Jason?" He offered. Jason looked exhausted and seeing Dick again would probably tire him out even more.

Jason looked like he was going to say something before he stopped himself. "Actually, y'know what, Alf? Sleep sounds great." Alfred nodded.

"Very well, Master Jason."

Alfred lead Jason out of the room. Bruce followed behind and Tim trailed after them. The corridors where very familiar and Jason felt this odd sense of nostalgia laced with regret. They walked up several flights of steps and Jason instantly recognised where they were.

Jason's room had been on the top floor of Wayne Manor and had always fascinated Tim. It was exactly opposite to the library but, because the library was composed of two floors, Tim rarely ever walked past it. The first time he had, he didn't even notice it was there. The second time, however, the sign on the door had caught his eye. Every bedroom in the manor either had a blank plaque or one with a name carved into it stuck to the door. The name 'Jason Todd' had been engraved into this particular one and Tim's heartbeat jumped a beat. He had cautiously made sure that no one was going to catch him and tried the door. It had been locked, Tim's dreams had been crushed and this was pretty much the last time he tried to enter Jason's room... that week.

He had tried, he really had, to stay strong, but the curiosity was killing him. What did it look like in there? What kind of stuff was in there? Was it as messy as Dick's room? Tim doubted anything could be as messy as Dick's room. Alfred had often implied that the state of Tim's room said more about what kind of a person he was than anything he could possibly say or do. Tim really wanted to see what was in there. Since he would never would have been able to ever meet Jason in person, he wanted to be able to at least see what kind of a person Jason had been. He had seemed like a very genuine, down to earth, definitely nothing like the children his parents wanted him to hang out with.

Jason stopped in front of the door to his old room. He was flooded by so many memories at once. When he had picked the room out. He'd still been that cocky little street rat with a thick east Gotham accent.

 _"Are you sure this is the room you want, Master Jason?"_

 _"Yep," He strode through the door. The room's walls and floor were bare. The only item of furniture was a wooden bed frame pushed against the centre of the back wall. "See? It's perfect," He explained. "It's as far away from Officer Assho-" Alfred shot him a pointed look and Jason stopped mid-word. "Dick." He corrected, glancing up apologetically at Alfred. "Dick's room as can be, so you ain't gotta worry 'bout us goin' a' it."_

He could feel the rising anticipation in his chest as Alfred fished a key out of his pocket and placed it into the lock. He pushed the door open and stepped back to allow Jason in first. Jason glanced nervously at Alfred, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

Jason's room looked exactly like it had before he left. Not a single thing had been disturbed, layers of dust had accumulated due to the years of neglect, but there was still this overwhelming sense of order and neatness. Much to everyone's surprise, Jason had never been an untidy child. Clumsy sure, but he had always made sure to clean up whatever he broke. Bruce assumed that this was because Jason had grown up with very little, he had learned to take care of what he did have.

The walls were littered with posters and through the gaps the faded red paint could be seen. One wall had been entirely converted into a bookshelf that had been crammed with as many books that could fit into it. Books had been packed into the slots in the shelves horizontally and more had been stacked in sideways. A worn armchair was tucked away in the corner with a small table and a lamp beside it. A book was still placed on the table with a piece of pastel pink coloured paper sticking crookedly out of the side.

A desk was sat in front of the windows. A dark office chair was still halfway out and at an angle. There were several pieces of stationery that had been neatly arranged on the desk. One of the drawers was still half open and a pen was still threatening to fall off. An open textbook was still placed in the centre with a notepad and notes tidily scrawled halfway down the page in pencil. The waste bin had been left knocked over under the desk with scrunched up pieces of lined paper falling out.

The bed had been placed in such a way that if the blinds were to be opened, the light would not hit the person sleeping. A black bathrobe was hung on the bathroom door. It was exactly as Jason remembered it.

"You kept it like this?" Jason asked after looking around. Alfred and Bruce were looking at him with the same fond expression. "All of it? I thought that you'd..."

"Of course we didn't touch it, Jason." Bruce smiled. Tim hadn't seen Bruce look at anyone like that in a long time. "It's still your room."

"I just assumed that..." Jason muttered looking around again. "Wow. Everything?"

Bruce nodded. "Everything." A slightly awkward silence followed and Alfred interrupted.

"Perhaps it would be best if we left Master Jason to his own devices."

Both Tim and Bruce looked like they wanted to argue but Alfred was already dragging them to the open door. He paused, "Goodnight Master Jason."

Jason looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Night, Alfie."


	24. Home

The morning had arrived much earlier than Jason would have liked. He'd woken up at 10 and had a grand total of 6 hours of sleep, the most he'd had in weeks but he'd have liked more sleep after the night he'd had. Deciding that there was little point in just laying in the darkness, he got up.

He looked down at his clothes with a slight frown. They were covered in dried blood still. Then he noticed the neat pile by the door with a small note placed on top.

 _Master Jason,_

 _I assume you would prefer having clean clothes and thus, I took the liberty of acquiring them for you. Lunch will be served at noon, Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Damian and Master Dick_ _shall all be in attendance. Until then, feel free to go about whatever business you have._

 _Alfred._

Jason grinned. "Alfie, you saint." He picked up the clothes and examined them. A black button up shirt and suit pants. They looked a little to big for him, so he assumed they were Bruce's which explained why it wasn't anything casual. Jason wouldn't be surprised if the man's entire wardrobe consisted of suits. Still, right now, Jason wasn't in much of a position to refuse clean clothes. He absolutely stank of god-knows-what... death, probably. So he very reluctantly stripped and pulled on the clothes.

And for the first time, he properly examined his room. It really was exactly how he left it. The ghosts of his past were still perfectly intact, frozen in every memory he made here, and, this time, he welcomed them into his mind. He took the time to examine everything, pacing the floor, bare feet dragging on the carpet. He ran his hand over the smooth, polished wood of his desk and remembered the hours he'd spend doing desperately trying to keep up with the rest of the kids in his year. They all had a major head start but Jason would accept anything less than perfect. He refused to be known as 'that dumb street rat', so he gave those rich brats another reason to hate him. He was top of every subject and would rather die than be anything less. There had even been times when he had skipped patrols with Bruce because there was something he needed to finish. Jason had never told them explicitly but he had the feeling Alfred and Bruce knew.

He dropped into his armchair and he was met by the sound of the leather cracking beneath him. There was a book on the table next to him and he picked it up, turning it in his hands. A thick coating of dust had formed over it and he blew it off. _Sense and Sensibility._ He never did get to finish that book. Perhaps he would, at some point at least.

He glanced up at his bookshelf and a slight smile spread across his face when he remembered the first time he'd ever seen it.

Bruce had spent the entire day building it and had refused to let Jason into his room, so Jason had spent the day sulking in the kitchen with Alfred, who merely told him to be patient. Jason hated the wry little smile on the butler's face every time he told him this. It wasn't until Jason had actually laid eyes on that he understood what was so important. He didn't actually understand _what_ it was, but he was still pretty damn impressed. Bruce had chuckled and tussled his hair when he'd quite bluntly asked what it was, then it had struck him. It was a bookshelf. His already impossibly wide grin had only widened when he'd realised.

The gesture had really struck a chord. Bruce had spent a lot of time and effort on this. Bruce had spent a lot of time and effort on something _for him_. He did all this because reading was something Jason was passionate about. Because it was something he liked to do. Because he cared. Maybe, just maybe, he still did.

Jason had to stifle the tears that had welled up in his eyes. There was this strange little tugging sensation in his chest and he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. The idea of seeing what other memories he could revive was too good to pass up. No one else would be awake right now, not that he wanted to see them anyway, not right now at least.

So, he spent at least an hour or two walking around the manor trying to re-familiarise himself with its layout. He'd spent most of that time in the library, reminding himself of all the hours both Alfred and Bruce had spent with him there. No matter what had happened, Jason's memories of the library had been very fond.

When he'd first arrived in the manor, after he'd very begrudgingly admitted that he needed it, Alfred had tutored him. Their first port of call had been learning to read and write. The first 'lesson' had been nerve-racking for ten-year-old Jason. He'd panicked about not being able to keep up, but, as he had found out, he really needn't worry. Alfred had taught him the alphabet. Jason had practically mastered it by the end of the lesson. Then he'd actually began to enjoy the lessons, look forward to them. He knew he wasn't a dumb kid, he'd just never seen himself as an 'academically smart' kid until now. Jason had actually impressed both Alfred with how much enthusiasm he'd begun to show and how much progress he'd made. By the time he was eleven, Bruce had enrolled him into Gotham Academy.

Gotham Academy. He hated the place. The pretentious crowds of rich snobs who'd glare down their noses at him. They all hated him, they never said so outright but they were never exactly subtle about it either. None of them ever even tried to get to know him. Jason didn't really care. He was fine with sitting on his own. It meant that he could focus on balancing his grades and his time as Robin. He refused to be anything less than better than Dick.

He walked into the ballroom and could almost hear the dull roar of polite conversation as he desperately begged Bruce to let him leave, or at the very least let him take off the dreaded tie. He could hear the first conversation he'd ever had with Selena Kyle.

Bruce had gotten distracted enough for Jason to escape. He'd been halfway across the ballroom and removed his tie when he'd heard Bruce call his name and he broke out into a sprint - and run straight into someone. A tall woman in a black cocktail dress and heels. She'd smiled down at him and helped him to his feet. He sheepishly introduced himself and learned that her name was Selena Kyle. Long story short, it had ended with Selena slinking away after stuffing Jason's tie into her purse with a wink and promising to see him again.

He had seen Selena on several occasions following and had actually taken the fact that she was Catwoman pretty well. Sure he'd been taken back, but he'd managed to accept it relatively quickly. It had definitely made Batman and Catwoman flirting make a lot more sense. It didn't stop him from being absolutely disgusted by it and groaning petulantly at them when they did.

His relationship with Selena had actually flourished well and they'd become friends, in a sense at least. She'd stop to keep him company whenever Bruce had gone off to do something and converse about various topics with him. Jason would search excitedly through the crowds during galas and balls for her and would trail behind her once he had. He knew Bruce didn't like the fact that he was spending so much with her but Jason always managed to win him over with his boyish grin that Bruce couldn't be mad at.

Then, came the kitchen. Ah, the kitchen. Jason remembered being absolutely awestruck at the sheer size of the kitchen. It had been bigger than the apartment he used to live in. He'd been amazed and thrilled by the prospect of being able to cook again. When his stepmother, Catherine, had been too high- which had been almost every day- Jason had been forced to cook, but he'd actually come to enjoy it. After she'd died, there hadn't been anywhere for him to actually cook so he hadn't, for at least two years.

Jason hadn't really understood how things ran in the Wayne household. The first morning there, he had made his way down to the kitchen in to make breakfast. He had been about halfway through frying an egg when Alfred walked in.

Alfred had been stunned at first, the last time anyone else cooked, aside from caterers, the poor man had been stuck scraping raw pancake mix off of the ceiling. He still had no idea how Dick managed to do it. But Jason had seemed far more collected and at home in the kitchen than Dick did so Alfred had stood silently by the door, watching him. He'd actually been pleasantly surprised by the fact that, not only did he not set the kitchen on fire, he was considerate enough to wash up after himself and set everything back in its place. Everything from the frying pan to the dining chair he had dragged over so he could see over the stove had been placed neatly back where to its designated position. He'd even wiped down the counter. Jason left without a word to get dressed, never noticing the butler watching him with a slight smile. Alfred made a mental note to allow Jason to cook more often. He'd been able to teach Jason a great deal about the art of cooking.

Jason wondered how much of that he'd retained. He'd had plenty of practice with the Winchesters but practice couldn't compare to actually being taught. So he went to work, rooting through the cupboards for anything that seemed appealing, setting ingredients on the counter. He muttered a song under his breath, something Dean would blast out of the Impala on the long drives they'd take.

He never noticed the figure at the door, observing him with a small smile.

"Welcome back, Master Jason."


	25. You're Back!

When Jason was younger, he had formed the habit of wandering around the manor. He didn't know why he'd do it, sometimes he'd just find himself in some remote corner of the manor. This habit had continued after his resurrection. He'd thoughtlessly walk through the Bunker, completely lost in his own mind. Eventually, he'd grown out of it, but being back in the manor had brought that back.

After an hour, he'd found himself in a desolate room in some forgotten corner of the manor. It was a small, square room with an 'l' shaped desk pushed into the corner with an old leather office chair tucked under it. There were a couple of open files still scattered on it, the pages yellow with age. A silver photo frame was perched on the edge. Jason picked it up and examined it.

A black and white photograph with a building that vaguely resembled the manor and a woman and her son stood in front. The woman had a hand resting on the boy's shoulder and was looking into the camera with a kind expression. The boy was probably about seven and was smiling broadly, there was something oddly familiar about him but Jason couldn't place it. Both him and his mother were in formal wear and Jason frowned slightly at the tie. Jason could have sworn that he'd seen the woman somewhere before, and then it struck him. Martha Wayne. He remembered the ridiculously large portrait of Bruce's mother and father. Which meant that somehow he'd managed to find his way into Thomas Wayne's office.

He looked around a little more carefully and wondered how long it had been since someone besides Alfred had been in here. Swiping his finger across the edge of the desk made him doubt that even Alfred had been here in a while. The room had this stale taste in the air and he could make out tiny specks of dust drifting in the thin streaks of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the dark blinds. The patches of carpet that the light hit were significantly duller than the wine red surrounding it. It had probably been over thirty years since the room had actually been used. He recalled constantly bombarding Alfred with an ungodly amount of questions on the Waynes. Alfred, of course, had been more than happy to answer the ones that could deciphered from the unintelligible flood.

The sound of tapping against the wooden door brought him back with a slight start. Alfred was stood at the door, observing him with a faint smile. "Lunch is ready to be served, Master Jason." He announced. Jason frowned slightly.

"Everyone's gonna be there, aren't they?" He mumbled, biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm afraid so, Master Jason." Alfred agreed, solemnly. "Would you like me to escort you to the dining hall?"

"Yeah, Alfie. That'd be great." Jason smiled. "I doubt I could actually find my way back anyway." Alfred did the closest thing to a chuckle that Jason had ever actually witnessed - a somewhat sharp exhale alongside the corner of his mouth twitching up slightly.

They walked through the corridors in a comfortable silence. Every so often, something would catch Jason's eye and some vaguely comforting memory would resurface. Still, it did little to calm his steadily rising heartbeat. The idea that he'd have to finally face everyone terrified him. What he supposed to do? What was he supposed to tell them? He knew that they would want to know where he'd been for the past six years. How the hell was he meant to explain?

 _'Hey, I haven't actually been dead. I was living in an underground base that belonged to some ancient, secret society that study the supernatural. Oh, and I've been living with two fugitives, a hacker, a prophet of the freaking lord, an angel in a damned trench-coat, and I occasionally hunt monsters and ghosts.'_ would go down a treat with all of them. Jason'd be carted off to Arkham in a straight jacket before he could even tell them about the monsters.

He was even sure how most of they'd take the whole _'I'm not dead'_ line. He honestly couldn't blame them for being sceptical. If he were in their shoes, he would be too. He just wasn't sure how they'd react. Dick would probably kill Jason again, hugging him. Barb probably _would_ kill him, either that or slap him. Or both.

Alfred came to a sudden stop and Jason, who had been absently trailing behind him, just managed to avoid walking into him. "Here we are, Master Jason." Alfred announced, calmly.

"Yep," Jason repeated. "Here we are."

Alfred glanced at Jason, and, upon noticing his clear discomfort, placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll leave you to enter when you're ready." He said. Jason nodded thankfully. "I shall be in the ballroom, should you require me."

The butler turned sharply on his heel and left. Jason waited until he had disappeared behind the corner before he began pacing nervously. "Come on, Jason." He muttered hurriedly, combing his hand through his hair. "You can do this."

He stopped in front of the door and placed his hand on the cool wood. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

When the door opened, the first person to notice him was Bruce, who briefly made eye contact before breaking it. Tim quickly followed suit, nodding slightly at Jason. Jason returned it. Damian was the next to look up at him. The scowl on his face was honestly something Bruce would be proud of. It didn't seem aimed at him, particularly, more like a seemingly permanent expression.

Barbara and Dick, on the other hand, were far too busy fighting over a platter of buttered bread rolls to notice him. "For the love of god, Dick," She chided, slapping his hand away from the plate. "No food until everyone is here."

Dick pouted and glanced away. His eyes grazed over Jason, stood awkwardly at in the doorway with his hand still gripping the edge of the door, and almost broke his neck doing a double take. "Jason!" He stood up so suddenly his chair toppled over. Barbara gasped, but remained still.

Honestly, with the look plastered all over his face, no one would have been surprised if Dick had clambered over the table to get to Jason.

"Um." Before another sound could escape Jason's mouth, Dick had sprinted across the room and Jason could practically feel the life being squeezed out of him. He tensed to it at first, but he eventually relaxed into the hug. He patted Dick's back hesitantly. "Hey, Dick." He murmured.

Dick looked up without removing his grip on Jason. Tears were brimming in his eyes but Dick's grin widened as he scanned over Jason's face. "It's really you." _His brother. The brother whose funeral he hadn't been there to see. The brother whose death he hadn't even been aware of until two weeks after it had happened. The brother who he, after living in the same household for over a year, knew absolutely nothing about. The brother who had lived on, years after his murder, as a bloody, tattered costume in a glass case._

Dick wasn't about to miss the second chance he had been blessed with to be able to get to know his brother. He took Jason by the hand and pulled him over to an empty seat between Dick and Tim.

He glanced at Barbara's wheelchair and frowned slightly but this was quickly exchanged to return to bright smile that Barbara shot at him. It wasn't until Jason saw the food actually sat right in front of him that he realised how hungry he actually was. He felt the chilling sensation of eyes watching him and he looked around.

Tim was watching him with a calculating look but he instantly looked away when Jason noticed him. Bruce, on the other hand, was giving him an unrelenting stare. He had this little suspicious glint in his eyes. It made him feel uneasy, but he ignored it and reached over the table for a slice of pie.


	26. You Can't Change The Past

Since the moment Jason had sat down, he could feel the stares boring into him. He was yet to catch someone actually staring at him, but he could _feel_ it. Bruce, Dick, and, surprisingly, Tim were the ones who Jason suspected. From the corner of his eye, he saw Barbara glance up at him every so often, she remembered how uncomfortable being the centre of attention had made him. Damian hadn't so much as given a second look at Jason, which he was somewhat thankful for.

To be perfectly honest, Jason could blame them for staring. The last time Bruce had seen him was at his funeral until he'd appeared out of nowhere, saved him from a werewolf (not that Bruce actually knew that) and dragged him through the front doors of Wayne Manor - covered in blood and unconscious. Jason and Bruce had been close before his death. Bruce had carefully built up the relationship between them.

When Jason had first arrived at the manor, he'd been this closed off little boy who radiated pent up anger. In all honesty, Bruce hadn't been sure what to make of him. He wasn't in the slightest bit like Dick had been. Dick had had no issues with expressing his emotions.

The only emotion Jason seemed comfortable with showing was rage. For the first week or two, Bruce had witnessed almost every section on the spectrum - from mild frustration to full blown anger. But Jason had always tried to hide it from Bruce. During training, whenever he couldn't do something, or whenever the idea that he wasn't as good as Dick was thrown around, Jason would get frustrated, very rightfully so. But this didn't stop the fact that, when he realised Bruce was watching him, he'd force himself to stop. The only signs were the slight shaking in his hands, the deep breaths that seemed just a little too aggressive, and the sharp undertone in the words "I'm fine".

At first, he assumed it was just how Jason was in general. Until he saw the boy with Alfred, during one of their tutoring sessions. Jason had been clearly more relaxed, and, when he'd been irritated that he struggled over the words in some book Alfred had picked out for him, the boy's emotions had been very present. It was intriguing to watch, and Bruce was determined to figure out why Jason behaved so differently around him.

It wasn't until a single moment that he'd realised why Jason hid his emotions from him. They were sat around the dining table, the very one they were all sat around now, on the very rare occasion that Bruce was in the manor. Bruce had moved just suddenly enough to make Jason flinch back - the subtlest movement but it was enough for Bruce to realise what made Jason tick.

Jason wasn't like Dick. Dick had parents who loved him, who made sure that he felt loved. When he had come to Bruce, Bruce had done everything he could to make sure Dick felt cared for. Jason spent most of his childhood doubting that his parents knew he even existed. His father was an alcoholic gang member who'd beat Jason and his mother senseless every other day and his mother was too high to care. Then both of them had died, leaving Jason as one of them very many homeless children in Gotham. The three years that Jason had spent alone had hardened him and made him bitter and untrusting. Jason was _not anything_ like Dick. And Bruce couldn't expect him to be.

Bruce had been pushing Jason to be as good as Dick. He had been so focused on making the next Robin that he'd neglected the fact that Jason needed a father figure. Jason needed him. So he changed. He tried to be around more, he tried to be more supportive toward Jason. And it had worked. Jason had become more open and Bruce had seen the thoughtful, compassionate boy that had been beaten and worn down by the cruel world he had been engulfed by. And he had come to think of him as his son.

Then he had gone missing.

Bruce had been out all day on WE business when it happened and Alfred was one the one day of the entire year that he took a day off. Bruce had come back to an empty manor.

All he'd been left was a carefully written note.

 _B,_

 _This is something I need to do. Don't worry, I'm sure you can handle patrols on your own for a week._

 _Jay._

Bruce trusted Jason - he was a responsible kid, so he waited. But Jason didn't come back. Then Bruce started looking for him. He'd uncovered the masses of research Jason had done on a woman. Sheila Haywood. Jason's birth mother.

Apparently, she had been doing aid work in Ethiopia. So Bruce Wayne made a visit to Ethiopia on the premise of 'business'. Honestly, Bruce wasn't particularly worried, Jason was smart and knew how to take care of himself.

He'd found the place why Sheila was supposed to have been. The manager had told him that a kid matching Jason's description had visited Sheila about a week ago, but he hadn't seen either since.

Then he'd revealed something else. A day or two before Jason had shown up someone else had visited Sheila. A pale man in a dark suit with a haunting smile. The Joker was in Ethiopia. And he had Jason.

The next two weeks, Bruce had spent tirelessly searching for Jason. He'd managed to track him down to an abandoned warehouse.

The building had gone up in flames moments before Bruce could get there. He'd dug through the rubble and found Sheila Haywood - bloody and dying.

 _"I'm sorry." She'd said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that he would... Jason. He wanted Jason, he said if I didn't he'd kill me. I- Jason could have made it out but he wouldn't leave without me. Even after, he tried to shield me from the blast."_

Sheila had died in his arms. Then Bruce had to dig Jason's lifeless body out of the burning debris. His son was dead. He had been too late.

He had lost Jason once. He wasn't going to lose him again.


	27. Barbara, You Hero

The lunch had gotten even more awkward when Dick started to talk to Jason. "So," He began, everyone glanced up, "Jason, what brings you to Gotham?"

Had Jason not been under the careful scrutiny of five other people, he would most certainly face palmed at the awful attempt to sound casual. Still, he had to respond. "There was something I needed to do," He replied shortly. Dick frowned at the vagueness of Jason's answer.

"What was it?" His head cocked to the side slightly and Jason was instantly reminded of Cas. The comparison actually stunned him for a moment or two. In the excitement of being reunited with his old life, he had forgotten about his current one. _God, why'd he have to make everything so damn confusing?_ He should have just dumped Bruce on the doorstep and left. Now, he'd gotten himself into an extremely awkward position and it was going to take a hell of a lot of leg work to get himself out.

None of them even knew about the monster thing - none of them would even believe him if he told them. Then there was the whole deal with the Winchesters. Bruce wouldn't take the fact that Sam and Dean were on the FBI's most wanted list lightly. The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped him out of his mental crisis. He panicked slightly when he realised that everyone was staring directly at him.

"It was..." He hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not he should tell them, "nothing important." The moment the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted it. He had the sinking feeling that it would come back to bite him. He glanced around quietly, it was obvious everyone knew he was lying, but no one said anything.

Dick hummed slowly in acknowledgement and the awkward silence returned, settling over the table again. Jason went back to pushing the remaining pieces of food around his plate with his fork and desperately trying to ignore the stares. This was honestly the single most uncomfortable thing he'd ever had to do.

Barbara cleared her throat and Jason glanced up at her. "Jason." She said, meeting his eye. There was a sly glint in them that told just Jason to just go with it. "The car out front. The black Chevy. She yours?"

"Nah," Jason replied, smiling slightly. "Belongs to a friend."

"Well, d'you mind if I go take a look at her?" She raised her eyebrow at him and Jason smirked back.

"Sure." He replied, standing up. He quickly walked out of the room, ignoring the stares from the others. Dick looked like he was about to interject but a look from Barbara as she went past silenced him. The pair made their way down the hallway in silence. They switched between avoiding being caught staring and trying to ignore the other person staring. It was uncomfortable per say it was more a case of neither being sure of what to do.

Jason glanced down at Barbara's wheelchair as they approached the front door. "Thanks." He said, holding open the door for her. "I thought I was going to die in there."

"No problem," Barbara replied. "It was the least I could do, and I get to take a look at your ride." She laughed slightly at her own joke and Jason weakly joined in.

Jason squinted at the sudden brightness but his eyes soon adjusted to the light. The gardens looked like they had when he was a kid. Slightly more overgrown but it was barely noticeable. In fact, the only reason why Jason realised was because he hadn't seen it for so long.

The two slowly approached the car down the driveway. Jason relaxed slightly at the sight of the car. At least that was still here. He reached into the pocket of his suit pants and pulled out the keys. Jason jogged up to the driver's side and unlocked the door, grinning as he slid in.

Barbara came up beside him and watched as he reached into the glove box, and pulled out his phone and checked it. There were five missed calls and couple of texts.

She returned her attention to the car itself, running her hand along its hood. "She sure is beautiful." Jason nodded, glancing around at the car's interior quickly before returning his attention to his phone. Barbara took the moment to take in Jason's appearance. In the dining hall, Dick had been obstructing her view of Jason. All she had gotten was a quick glance at him when he had first entered.

All in all, a lot had changed. For one, he was a hell of a lot taller. Honestly, it had taken her by surprise for a moment when Jason had first entered. Sure she had expected Jason to look different, she just still thought that he'd still be an absolutely tiny fourteen-year-old who'd complain when she held things out of his reach. The fact that Jason was this 6 foot something, nineteen-year-old took her back a little.

In all fairness, Jason was just as surprised to see Barbara in a wheelchair. Barbara had been batgirl for about a year and a half before Jason had become Robin. She had taken it upon herself to make herself Jason's mentor. On Jason's first patrol, she had been there right beside him to give him a hand should he need it. The two had become very close during Jason's time as Robin.

She had been even happier about Jason's return than anyone else had. Though she couldn't help feeling strangely sad about it. Jason obviously had been living somewhere else for the past almost 6 years. He probably had someone else he thought of as family. Barbara couldn't help but feel jealous at the idea that Jason probably didn't view her as an older sister anymore, but as long as Jason was happy, then Barbara could stomach the distance that had inevitably formed between them. That didn't mean she didn't want to get to know him. More specifically, she wanted to know where he had been all this time and what he had been doing.

"I'm really glad your back, Jason." She said. "We all are." Jason was snapped out of his train of thought and looked up at her, nodding. "I hope you don't mind me asking, what happened to you?"

Jason put his phone down and sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "It's a long, long story. Besides, I could ask you the same thing." He unconsciously glanced down at her wheelchair.

"It's a long, long story." She shrugged, folding her arms "Besides, I have time."

"Me too." Jason retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. They both knew that neither of them was going to back down.

Barbara huffed, "Good."


	28. I Don't Believe In Vampires

Batman leapt along the Gotham skyline as the last traces of daylight faded over the horizon. After over a decade, the inhabitants of the city had grown accustomed to the sight of their masked protectors running across rooftops. Children would still huddle around their bedroom windows in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the caped crusaders. Instead of ushering them away, parents would stand beside them looking out over the city smiling slightly at the joyous squeals at the sight of a caped silhouette sprinting along a distant rooftop.

Even the city's law enforcement had warmed to the Dark Knight and Co. Poorly hidden scowls had been replaced by polite nods and courteous smiles. Though this had changed slightly after Jason had died. Bruce had caught more than one officer giving him pitying looks for at least a couple of months after the news of the boy's death hit the presses. They'd slowly worn away after Tim had joined the ranks, but every so often something would be mentioned that hit a little too close to home.

Bruce was still treading on ice around the whole idea of Jason being back. At one point during the night, he'd managed to convince himself that if he were to walk up to the door to Jason's room, he'd be greeted by the same locked door and empty bed. Honestly, he had actually considered digging up Jason's grave. Just to prove that he wasn't imagining things (he probably would at some point alongside many, many DNA tests).

Right now, he had a more important task at hand. He was a couple of minutes away from the warehouse he had first encountered Jason. The sinking feeling that something was going to horribly, horribly wrong grew as he drew closer.

He'd asked Dick to stay behind in case Jason decided to bolt. Damian would be there anyway since he had been benched for two weeks after a very unfortunate incident involving Tim's motorbike, Dr Freeze, and Gotham harbour. Needless to say, Tim still hadn't retrieved all the frozen remains of his vehicle. Damian could probably handle it but having Dick there was comforting, to say the least.

He still didn't really know much about the whole situation. He didn't know where Jason had been this entire time. He didn't know _who_ Jason had been with this whole time. From what he had found when he looked into the name that Jason had given Dick, he had every right to be suspicious. Not to mention the circumstances in which Bruce and Jason had been reunited weren't exactly doing much to help quell this.

The boy had come out of an abandoned warehouse in the dead of night, covered in blood, wielding what looked like two machetes. Not to mention the fact that Jason hadn't even hesitated to run when Bruce had approached. Then there was that thing that had attacked him.

Jason had a lot of explaining to do.

Dick hummed contently as he leant back in his chair, resting his feet on the interface of the Batcomputer. He turned his head when the communicator on his belt beeped, and reached over and grabbed it. "Hey, B." he greeted nonchalantly, glancing back up at the screen.

 _"Dick."_ Bruce's rough 'Batman' voice returned. Dick honestly didn't know how Bruce managed to do it consistently. _"Dick, where's Jason?"_

"Um." Dick glanced up at the computer screen. Jason was pacing back and forth with a phone pressed to his ear. "In his room. Why?"

 _"Bring him here. Now."_

Jason nearly dropped his phone when someone tapped at the door.

 _"Jay?"_ The voice on the other end asked. _"You okay?"_

"Yeah, Dean." He replied, staring at the door. "I'll... I'll call you back later. Bye"

There was a slight pause before Dean responded. _"Okay, bye."_ The line disconnected. Jason sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Come in." He called out. The door was opened slightly and Dick's head popped through the gap.

"Bruce just called." He explained. "Says he needs you."

"What for?" Jason pressed, placing a hand on his hip.

"He didn't say." Dick shrugged pushing the door open wider. "Sounded pretty urgent, though."

Jason hesitated. "Fine."

Dick nodded; Jason grabbed his jacket off of his bed and followed him down the corridor.

Neither said a word to the other until they got outside. Dick had started to walk towards his car. "Come on, I'll drive."

"Like hell," Jason muttered bitterly, grinding his heels into the pavement and pulling his jacket around himself tighter, "am I getting into that rust bucket. "I remember how bad a driver you were. _I'll_ drive."

"Are you even old enough to _have_ a driver's licence?" Dick retorted, moving back towards Jason.

Jason rolled his eyes as his fingers fumbled with his keys as he attempted to slot them, one by one, into the door's lock. His eyes lit with victory when one finally slipped in and turned with a small click. Dick watched as Jason swung the door open and immediately got in before slamming the door. He followed suit.

There was an oddly rotten smell coming from the back seats and, from his expression, Jason had noticed it too. "I've gotta get that cleaned up," Jason mumbled to himself, starting the engine. He glanced to the side when he felt Dick watching him. He cleared his throat. "Where to?"

Jason could physically feel his chest tightening as he drove. He had already known where Dick would want him to go but he had still hoped that maybe, just maybe, Dick would direct him to some other part of Gotham. He hadn't.

Jason glanced up at the building. He honestly thought he might actually throw up. He could only imagine how angry Bruce would be.

"After you," Dick said, reaching for the door handle. Jason frowned and glanced down the street. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he briefly entertained the thought of escaping. It was quickly dismissed.

He grimaced slightly before slowly entering the room.

The room was surprisingly inconspicuous. Besides a small stack of wooden crates in the corner and a mass of spider webs and dust on the floor, the room was empty.

Jason hadn't seen Batman but he most certainly felt Bruce drop down on him from the ceiling. He'd then been pulled up by his collar and thrown across the room.

He could faintly hear Dick trying to pry Bruce away from his throat over the sound of Batman hitting him.

A minute later, he felt the tight grip around his throat loosened and he slid to the floor, trying to regain his breath.

"What are you doing?" Jason heard Dick asked in an exasperated voice. Bruce grumbled something and then followed the sound of footsteps. He winced at the sound of a door being knocked off its hinges. Dick gasped.

"I-I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation." Dick stuttered out after a moment. He walked over and tapped Jason on the shoulder. "Jason?"

"Check their teeth," Jason mumbled, trying to stop the pounding in his head.

For at least ten minutes, there was silence. Jason assumed that Dick was probably hesitating to pick up and examine a severed head. Then...

"Oh, my god."

He followed Dick's footsteps as they grew closer and eventually came to a stop in front of him. Something hit the ground and rolled up to Jason's leg.

Jason glanced up.

"Explain."


	29. At Least That's Over With

"Explain."

Jason hesitated. Lying again crossed his mind but he ignored the urge. "Fine." He muttered, heaving himself up. He looked down at the severed head by his feet and nudged it slightly. His eyes flickered over to Bruce when he edged closer. "You want the truth - you've got the truth."

He walked over to the door, trying to ignore the headache and the throbbing of the already forming bruises that he would definitely notice later. He paused by the door when he realised that neither was following him. Dick was frozen halfway through a step and Bruce hadn't even moved an inch.

"Well?"

He turned away and heard the light sound of footsteps behind him. He glanced up and down the street. It all seemed less ominous now. All that could be seen of the outlines of warehouses were the shadows thrown by the moonlight.

He pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. It had been a very, _very_ long time since he had actually smoked and he almost felt bad about doing it again, but he'd had a rough night so screw it.

As he lit one, he heard Dick approach behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just about see Dick glance at the cigarette disapprovingly, before looking away. "So?"

Silently, he walked over to the car, hands in pockets, searching for his keys. When he noticed the dark shadow standing over the car, he jumped - cigarette falling from his mouth and onto the damp concrete. Jason stared at it for a moment or two before dragging his left boot over it. "Jesus Christ..."

He pulled his keys out and unlocked the trunk. He felt both Bruce and Dick staring over his shoulder at the black duffel bag in the otherwise empty trunk.

He yanked out the duffel bag and shoved it behind him. From the sound of it, Dick was already unzipping it and was about to be disappointed by Jason's dirty clothes and mildly confused by the very large box of salt Jason had stuffed in there.

As Dick was distracted, Jason reached down to the combination lock and undid it. He rummaged around for a moment or two before lugging out a huge leather bound book, snatching the duffel bag out of Dick's hands and replacing it with the book. He tossed the duffel bag back into the trunk, slamming it shut.

He walked around to the driver's side of the car and slid in. He watched Dick wander round the front of the car and into the passenger's side. Jason waited for a moment or two. "Is Bruce gonna get in or..." He trailed off, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Dick looked behind them in the wing mirror. "I think he's gone."

Jason started the engine. "Fantastic..."

For a couple of minutes, they drove in silence. Dick glanced between the book and Jason.

"Try page 30," Jason muttered.

Dick stared at the book's cover for a moment. _A Guide To The Supernatural: Hunter's Edition._ "It's a little dark..."

Jason sighed, quite forcefully opened the glove compartment and retrieved a torch, placing it on the book.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes whilst Dick flicked through the book.

 _Vampires are a race of blood-drinking creatures that are often depicted in popular mythology. Like werewolves, vampires were once humans that were 'turned'. There is no known cure for vampirism._ Someone, presumably Jason, had crossed out the last sentence and written 'blood of maker - only if hasn't fed'

 _Although little is known about the origins of most species of monsters, it has been theorised by many expert hunters that vampirism was the result of some sort magic gone awry during the earlier stages of mankind._

 _The only way to successfully kill a vampire is decapitation. However, because it is the blood of vampires 'turns' humans, caution should be taken to not ingest blood._

 _Vampires almost always live in nests which typically consist of..._

"Holy..." Dick mumbled. He looked up at Jason. "You're serious about this?"

Jason brought the car round into an empty alleyway. "Yep."

"So this is what you were here for? Vampires?" Dick didn't seem comfortable saying the word.

"Yep, that's kind of what I do."

"There are other types of... creatures? Or is it just vampires?"

"Oh, God." Jason sighed, leaning back slightly. "I wish it was just the vampires."

"So what _do_ you do?"

"I hunt them," Jason replied simply.

"Are there others?Like you?"

"Yeah," Jason glanced at a nearby streetlight. "There's definitely an American community. I'm pretty sure there's a worldwide one."

Dick was about to ask another question when a blinking light on his belt distracted him. He picked up a small communicator device and looked at it. "We'd better get back. You can tell me more later."

Jason yawned, nodding. "No problem."


	30. One Hour

One hour. Dick and Jason had been gone for one hour. Tim probably wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't heard a car pulling out of the driveway. He was, admittedly, curious about where they were going but he was still too occupied with the case to care about it too much. Damian had gotten bored of bothering Tim about 4 hours ago and had probably gone to bed. Tim, being Tim, had decided to use this free time on something 'productive'.

He would have liked to be able to work on the bat-computer but Alfred had kicked him out on the premise of 'getting a full night of sleep' or whatever. So he had taken his laptop and a thick blanket, and had hidden away in the front room. In the darkness.

He heard a car pull into the driveway. He got up and glanced out of the window. He watched two figures step out of the car. The smaller of the two, presumably Dick, had what looked to be a very large book resting by his side.

His eyes fell onto Jason. Standing somewhat tiredly in the driveway, leaning on the hood of his car. The two began to walk toward the door. Tim noted that Jason seemed to be limping and holding the side of his face. He looked injured. He noticed Dick looking around and probably coming to the same conclusion.

He clambered back onto the couch and waited for the door to open, mentally recalling the location of the first-aid kit. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Dick and Jason entered.

Jason slowly made his way over to a chair and literally just collapsed into it, shutting his eyes. He winced, grasping his ribs through his jacket.

Dick flicked on the lights. He jumped slightly when he noticed Tim. Jason, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"Hey, Timmy," Dick grinned. He glanced over at Jason and grimaced. Jason looked like someone had hit him square in the face with a baseball bat. Blood and bruising everywhere. Not to mentioned blood soaking through his shirt. His stitches had probably split. How the hell hadn't Dick noticed that before?

Dick turned to Tim. Tim nodded and silently got up and left. He returned a minute later.

Dick was now sat down on the coffee table across from Jason. Jason hadn't moved at all. He cracked an eye open when Tim sat down next to Dick. He tensed more, shifting uncomfortably. Tim gestured to the first-aid kit and Jason relaxed a little.

Tim knelt down beside Jason tentatively. He pulled out an ice pack and handed it to Jason.

He dug through the kit again. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Jason watching him. He looked up at Jason briefly, Jason looked away. He reassessed Jason's injuries. There wasn't much Tim could do about the bruising and swelling that the ice pack wouldn't help. The deep cut above Jason's eyebrow, the broken nose and the split stitches, however, Tim could help with.

"Hey, Tim?" Dick yawned. "D'ya need any help or can I...?" He gestured pointedly towards the door.

Tim glanced over his shoulder. "I think I can handle it."

Jason stared at Dick as he left. "Don't you dare leave me here with him," he mouthed. Dick shrugged at him apologetically and then left.

Once the sound of Dick's footsteps had vanished down the corridor, the two were stuck in an echoing silence. Tim dug through the medical supplies and Jason glanced awkwardly around at anything other than Tim.

"Before I start, this is going to be uncomfortable. So, um, do you want a drink or something?"

Jason stared at him for a moment, slightly surprised. "Uh, sure."

Tim silently left and Jason began to take everything in. And it was a _lot_ to take in.

As of yet only Dick knew about the supernatural stuff. Bruce had some idea but he'd gone off before Jason could explain anything fully. Jason knew he was going to have to explain it to everyone else and hopefully they wouldn't react like Bruce did. Jason's face really couldn't take much more of this. Or his ribs for that matter. It was honestly a miracle that he'd only cracked a few.

Then Jason was going to have to stick around until the next full moon. He had to check whether a) the werewolf that attacked Bruce had turned him (there was also what the hell he was meant to do if this was the case), and b) if there were any remaining werewolves in Gotham.

He also had to figure out how he was going to tell everyone about the Winchesters. If Bruce reacted this badly to _him_ , he couldn't even imagine what was going to happen to Sam and Dean. Maybe he could start with someone who was less likely to be physically assaulted. Maybe Cas. Yeah, Cas would be a good option, even if Bruce did try and attack Bruce, it wasn't like he could _actually_ hurt him.

Okay, that settled it. Once Jason had introduced the whole supernatural thing to everyone, he'd call Cas down. Right now, however, Jason wasn't very sure that Bruce would be able to handle the idea of angels.

Jason had been so distracted by his game-plan that he hadn't noticed Tim sit back down until he cleared his throat. He glanced over and Tim pulled at the lapel of his blazer and nodded toward Jason's jacket. Jason got the idea pretty quickly.

He shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the ground to his left. He then slowly began to unbutton his shirt, wincing slightly when patches of dried blood on the shirt pulled at his wound. Tim was trying desperately not to feel awkward.

When Jason had finished, Tim couldn't help but glance over Jason's chest. There was muscle. A lot of muscle. And blood. Lots of that too. Tim also noticed a tattoo on Jason's arm. A pentagram in a sun.

Tim cleared his throat and poured some of bottle's contents into the towel. It was a thin, clear liquid. But the smell - like varnish remover crossed with rubbing alcohol. He tentatively began clearing the blood off with it. Jason jumped slightly at first but didn't really move much after. He just kind of stared off into the distance and occasionally poured himself another drink.

After a while the silence had really started to bother Tim.

"So," he began. Jason's eyes became less distant and he looked down. "what happened?"

"Bruce." Jason muttered bitterly. "Again."

"Bruce? Bruce attacked you? Why?"

"There was a..." Jason paused for a moment, looking for the right word, " There was a misunderstanding. He thought I killed 14 people. " Tim felt Jason tense slightly and his eyes darted around briefly. Like he didn't mean to say that last part.

Tim honestly wasn't sure what to say. "Uh, did you?"

Jason shrugged. "Depends on what you define as people, I guess."

Tim didn't respond and the silence returned.

Once Tim had finished clearing the blood and prepared to begin stitching, Jason spoke.

"Do you believe in the supernatural?" Jason glanced at Tim's slightly confused expression. He honestly had no idea why he was talking to Tim of all people about this but he felt like he had to tell _someone_. Maybe it was the alcohol. "Like monsters: ghosts and magic or whatever."

Tim regained his composition. "I don't know."

"Aren't there those two Justice Leaguers? Uh, what's their names? Doctor Fate, and Zatanna?"

"Yeah. Um..."

This ensued for most of the night. Jason barraging Tim with increasingly and surprisingly deep questions for someone who'd just polished off their second bottle of wine.

At first, Tim had assumed that Jason was just trying to start some sort of conversation. Perhaps he hated the silence as much as Tim did. Maybe, Jason, after having his head beaten in twice, losing a pretty substantial amount of blood, and then becoming intoxicated (probably not the best decision on Tim's part), decided that a philosophical question was the best way to begin a conversation.

But as Jason's questioning became oddly specific, Tim was starting to think that Jason completely and utterly _believed_ what he was say.


	31. There's No Place Like Home

Dean wasn't worried.

Nope.

Dean wasn't worried at all. Jason was a smart kid. Yeah, Jason could take care of himself. And it wasn't like he was halfway across the country in some godforsaken city infested with the literal human scum of the earth, hunting a nest of vampires with god knows what other kinds of supernatural monsters lurking behind every shadow or something.

He also hadn't called in in a couple of days. But that _definitely_ wasn't because he'd had his throat ripped out by bloodthirsty, murderous vampires and was currently rotting in the corner of some abandoned warehouse turned vampire lair. There also wasn't the slightest chance that Jason had been cornered by some lowlife and then been left to bleed to death in some worn down back alley where no one would ever find his body.

Okay. Maybe Dean was a _little_ worried. And maybe he was overthinking it, just a teeny-tiny bit. But it was all perfectly possible - if slightly (completely) unlikely, as Charlie added.

Dean was in the library when his phone had gone off. It took a moment before he recognised the ringtone. And then he began to scramble through his pockets, desperately trying to find the source of the ringing. He eventually emerged with

"Jason!" Dean exclaimed, placing the phone to his ear.

"Um, hey, Dean," Jason replied, drawing out his words. This was something he'd do - especially when he was younger - when he'd done something stupid or something that he felt guilty about. Dean had a bad feeling about this.

"Jay. Is everything okay?"

"Uh," Jason started, he took a sharp breath - like he was going to say something much longer before settling with, "Yeah..." His voice raised a good 3 octaves in during that one word. Really not a good sign. He coughed, "Yeah."

"Jason..." Dean steeled, it was at moments like these when Dean realised how much he legitimately sounded like a parent.

"Yes?"

"What did you do?"

"What?" Jason scoffed. "What makes you think that I..."

Dean interrupted. "Jason..."

"Um, before I tell you," Jason negotiated, "promise you won't get mad."

"It doesn't matter what you did, Jason. I'm not going to get mad."

"Okay, well everything was fine and dandy at first. I was working the case - just like you and Sam taught me too. Y'know, I asked around and followed some leads. Charlie helped me get some security tapes. The vamps were hiding out in a warehouse around the harbour, so I went and dealt with 'em. And then, I, may or may not have been chased by Batman." He paused for a moment. Dean assumed he was waiting for a response.

"That's not your fault, Jason," Dean sighed.

"Okay," Jason mumbled. "Then a werewolf attacked me."

"WHAT?" Dean yelled. He took a deep breath, calming down slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little bruised. I'm fine."

"At least you're alright. What happened to it?"

"I killed it," Jason replied. "The only problem is that I don't know whether Batman got bit. I can try to find out but the only way to be sure is to-"

"Wait until the next full moon," Dean finished, sighing. "Me and Sam are going over there."

"You can't," Jason blurted. A shocked silence ensued. "Not yet. They don't know about any of _this_. Not even the vamps. Just give me some time to explain."

There was a loud knock at the door. Jason turned with a start.

"Jay? You okay?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'll... I'll call you back later. Bye."

"Okay, bye."

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to the door.

"Come in."


	32. Bruce Wayne

Bruce had been in the board meeting for about two hours now, and, to be perfectly honest, he'd zoned out about five minutes after it started. He'd occasionally glance around the room or shift in his seat slightly to give the illusion of focus. It was a technique that had been developed after many, many years of not paying attention in board meetings. It wasn't like he was missing much either. He'd just tell them to get Lucius to check everything over.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Like a warehouse full of decapitated bodies and his dead son and that thing that had attacked him in the alleyway.

He had already made a little list of what he had to do when he finally managed to escape:

The first thing he was going to do was dig up Jason's grave. He just wanted to make sure that the 'Jason' that was currently in his house was actually his Jason. It made him slightly uncomfortable but it was the easiest way to catch out 'Jason' (besides taking blood, which he was probably going to do anyway). It wouldn't actually do anything to verify 'Jason' as his Jason, but it would put his mind at ease for a small while at least.

Then he was going to have to go to that warehouse and get some samples from some of the bodies. A head, and some blood samples would probably do. He was also going to have to clean all that up, and he genuinely had yet to think of how the hell he was going to go about this. There had been at least a dozen bodies, and decapitation was particularly messy.

Once he'd figured out how he was going to do that, he was going to try and find the alleyway where that thing had attacked him and Jason. It had been dark and Bruce had been tired and it was probably just a rabid dog, but Bruce wanted to make sure.

THEN he was going to attempt to convince Jason to give him some DNA samples and let Bruce test his finger prints. Maybe he would ask Dick to ask for him (Jason would probably be a little apprehensive of Bruce). He was honestly not really sure what he would do if Jason turned out to not be actually Jason.

"Mr Wayne?" Someone asked.

"Yes?" Bruce asked, glancing around the table. A woman across the table from him spoke.

"Are the changes okay with you, Mr Wayne?" She repeated.

He glanced at the board briefly. Something about increasing exports. "Everything seems to be fine. Just check it all over with Lucius."

And just like that he could leave. Magic.

He had driven himself home. Alfred had mentioned something about wanting to keep an eye on Jason and Bruce hadn't pressed any further than that - although he did feel that Alfred had become too comfortable with Jason too quickly.

Speaking of Jason, Bruce had a grave to dig.

It had been more tiring than Bruce had expected. He had wanted to finish the job before the sun had set but there had been a lot of traffic coming back, and he had only just started when it had gotten dark. Luckily, he had managed to find a headlamp and some batteries and he continued.

A couple of shovelfuls of dirt later and he was already beginning to ache. By the time he had gotten halfway, he felt on the verge of collapsing. There was this strange, sensation of someone watching him. He turned.

Off in the distance, by the entrance of the cemetery was a tall figure. Jason.

One hand was in the pocket of his leather jacket and the other was down by his side, holding a lit cigarette. He brought it up to his mouth slowly and the two made eye contact. In the light of the moon, Jason seemed almost ghostlike, pale skin and dark shadows thrown across his face.. He turned on his heels and walked back towards the manor.

Bruce felt unsettled, but he continued. Within a couple of minutes he had reached the coffin. It had caved in, the inside had flooded with dirt, and it was empty, completely empty.

It had been almost midnight by the time he had filled the grave back in. It had been past midnight when he got back into the manor.

He had gone straight into the batcave, he didn't even have to think about it anymore.

The night air was cool.

A shadow flickered across the rooftops. There was a flash of a black cape as a small thud echoed down a empty street. The warehouse door creaked as he slid it open.

The pools of blood on the floor had dried into flaky stains on the concrete. There was an overwhelming smell of rotting flesh. He sighed, grimacing. He had better get started. If he was lucky, he could be back home by 2AM. Bruce was not lucky.

It had been around 4AM by the time he had gotten back to the batcave. The smell of blood and rotting flesh had literally absorbed into his costume. His body ached and he could barely keep his eyes open. He dragged himself out of the batmobile with the bag of DNA samples.

The sweet release of sleep would come soon, he could put the sample in the computer and then let it do the rest. He had managed to get the analysis started and not much further.

On the way out, he'd decided that he'd quickly check on Jason. He'd taken a seat at the computer monitor and brought up the camera screens. There were a couple scattered around the house and Bruce had specifically placed one in Jason's room after his arrival. In the darkness, he could just about make out the shape of Jason curled up under his covers.

He glanced around at the other screens and everything kind of blurred, then faded.

Alfred had found him slumped over in his chair at 6 in the morning, but left him there. It was about time Bruce got a full night's sleep.


	33. So That Happened

It was around noon when Alfred had come into the front room. He hadn't been very surprised to find Tim curled up on the floor with a blanket wrapped around him and his laptop tucked under his arm. He had been quite surprised, however, to find Jason sprawled out over an armchair, shirtless and heavily bruised with three empty wine bottles by his feet. There were several layers of bandages wrapped around his rib cage and a now melted ice pack rested on his face. His hair stuck up in all directions and there were a couple of clumps of reddish-brown hair in the streak of white.

Dick had mentioned to him that Jason had come back in pretty bad shape that night but that Tim had been patching him up. He had just assumed that Jason would be in his room, resting. Apparently not.

Alfred took a moment to assess the situation.

Tim he would not wake up. He had been long overdue more than three hours of sleep and Alfred was going to be damned before he got in the way of that.

Jason, on the other hand, he was going to wake up. Dick had shown him the book that Jason had given him and Alfred wanted to ask Jason more about this. Alfred also wanted to do a quick check-over of Jason's injuries. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tim's medical abilities, it was just that Tim had been previously running on about two hours of sleep and far too much caffeine to have a very steady hand.

"Master Jason," Alfred said, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. He stirred slightly and the ice pack slid off of his face. Alfred shook him. Jason groaned as he cracked an eye open.

"Alfie?" He croaked, squinting at the sunlight. His voice sounded uncomfortably like it had when he was younger. "What time is it?"

"It's almost time for lunch, Master Jason." Alfred smiled when Jason perked up at the mention of lunch. "How would you like to help me cook?"

"I'd love to," Jason grinned. It was the same boyish grin he had always given him. He stood up suddenly then stumbled slightly, knocking over the wine bottles. "You would happen to have any aspirin or something, would you? I'm a little..." He gesture haphazardly at the wine bottles.

"I think I have just the thing."

Alfred had this wonderful, wonderful ability to just be able to walk away during a conversation and whoever he was talking to would just _follow_ him. Just like that.

The next thing Jason knew he was trailing behind Alfred and into the kitchen. Out of everything Jason had missed from his old life, being around Alfred was definitely one of them (hanging out with Barb was a close second). He had honestly missed having someone to cook with. As much as he loved them, the Winchesters lacked the finesse that Alfred had when it came to cooking. A while back, however, he'd met Kevin's mom and he'd really enjoyed cooking with her.

"Any dishes in mind, Alfie?" Jason asked as he glanced around. Alfred was in the process of mixing a concoction of ingredients in a large mug. After a minute or two, Alfred turned suddenly and handed the mug to Jason. He glanced in it. A strangely thick, pale-yellow liquid that kinda stuck to the sides of the mug as he turned it. "What's in this?"

"I think you would prefer not to know," Alfred replied.

"Are you sure this will work?"

"Positive," he smiled slightly. "I developed the recipe for Master Bruce when he was around your age. You do seem to be able to handle the alcohol more graciously."

Jason chuckled, looking into the mug. "I never took Bruce for a lightweight." He gulped down the entire thing. Then he almost coughed it all back up. "Oh, god. What the actual f-"

He stopped when he remembered Alfred was in the room. His head perked up slightly. "Hmm. I actually feel better." His stomach rumbled. "How about that lunch now though?"

"Of course, Master Jason."

Jason had really forgotten how skillful Alfred was in the kitchen. He had found himself flashing back to when he was younger. The first time that Jason had made a proper meal with Alfred he had been eleven years old. He had made odd little things here and there but nothing big.

 _It was around 5pm when Jason and Alfred arrived home. Alfred had picked Jason up from school at 3pm and the two had gone to the closest supermarket to pick up a couple of extra things for dinner. This wasn't particularly unusual, Jason and Alfred often went around in the evening to do various odd jobs that Alfred needed to do._

 _"What's on the menu today, Alf?" Jason asked, looking up at Alfred. He was jogging slightly to keep up with Alfred's quick pace and Alfred slowed down to allow Jason to comfortably walk beside him._

 _"I was thinking that, perhaps, you would like to chose," Alfred replied. "And maybe, you could give me some assistance in the kitchen."_

 _"Really?" Jason squeaked, grinning. Alfred nodded and Jason had taken off towards the supermarket._

 _Alfred had reached the entrance to find Jason, hopping from one foot to another with excitement, shopping basket in hand. Jason had lead Alfred down the aisles, placing ingredients in his basket (Alfred had also occasionally placed an item or two in there), whilst babbling about how excited he was to be able to cook._

 _Through the unintelligible stream, he managed to decipher the word "spaghetti". Whilst they were in the fruit and vegetable aisle, Jason had begun to talk about what he would cook when he lived with his mother. Apple pie had been something in particular that Jason had spoken about with high regards._

 _Throughout, Alfred kept note of what Jason was picking, how he'd carefully look at the price of each item and how he'd then pick the cheapest thing but didn't mention anything. Jason was taking the reins on this one._

 _By the time the had gotten to the checkout, Jason was struggling to carry the basket but kept on insisting to Alfred that he could manage it perfectly fine. The total had come to just under $50 and Jason had let out a low whistle as Alfred handed over the money._

 _Jason had also insisted on carrying the two bags to the car and had almost toppled over several times. On the way back to the manor, Jason had been sat in the back (in a booster seat, as much as he had protested to it) and had talked about how his day at school had been - his English project on William Shakespeare, how he had gotten the highest score on his math test and the experiment he had done in chemistry._

 _When they had arrived back at the manor, Jason had immediately sprinted off towards the manor doors, stumbling slightly with the bags. Alfred had arrived into the kitchen to find Jason frantically unpacking everything they had bought - scrambling around with armfuls of food. It had taken just over ten minutes for the small boy to put everything away._

 _Jason turned to Alfred with wide eyes and an excited smile. "Come on!"_

Alfred watched with a small smile as he watched Jason dice onions and trying fruitlessly to stop himself from crying. _Some things never change,_ Alfred thought. His eyes flickered over to the leather bound book he had left on the breakfast bar.

"Master Dick informed me of what happened last night," Alfred said, coming up beside Jason, placing a can of tomatoes onto the counter. Jason tensed slightly.

"What did he tell you?" He muttered, chopping slightly more aggressively.

"Master Bruce asked him to bring you to a warehouse by the harbour," Alfred recalled, beginning to prepare the other ingredients. "There were several dead bodies in the warehouse and Master Bruce... confronted you."

Jason let out a small laugh. "That's one way to put it."

"On that note, I'd also like to check over your injuries," Alfred continued, looking worriedly at the cut above his eyebrow. "Whilst Master Dick didn't deny that it was your doing, he was very adamant that there was an acceptable reason for what you did. It was rather surprising, to say the least."

There was a moment of silence before Jason realised what Alfred meant. He froze, the knife clattering onto the counter. "He showed you the book, didn't he?"

"Yes," Alfred replied, adjusting his tie. "he did. But the book wasn't what I wanted to ask you about."

"Oh," Jason breathed. He honestly wasn't even sure that that was better. "So, what do you want to know?"

"What do you know of the Men Of Letters?"

"Uh," Jason mumbled. He really had not expected _that_. For a moment, he kinda just sat there dumbly, attempting to form a coherent answer. "They... they... they were a, uh, a secret organisation that, uh, studied the supernatural - like monsters and demons and stuff..."

Alfred nodded along politely as if Jason had just given an eloquent explanation of the Men Of Letters and not stumbled through it like an absolute idiot. Jason hadn't looked up at him yet and he was picking at the hem of his shirt. "After Master Dick showed me the book, I had a closer look through it," he said, walking off somewhere behind Jason and picking something up. Jason finally looked up when Alfred dropped a large book onto the counter.

"The book itself was very informative," Alfred said, flicking the book open. The section was on vampires, funnily enough. "But it was the notes on the edges that were what interested me. More specifically, this symbol." He pointed at the small symbol that Jason had drawn in the corner of the page because he was bored. "An Aquarian star. The symbol of the Men Of Letters."

"Yeah," Jason nodded, seemingly a lot more relaxed. He had obviously expected Alfred's reaction to be more like Bruce's. "But, uh, how do you know about the Men Of Letters?"

Alfred gave him a wry smile and Jason's eyes widened. "No," he gasped. "You were not a Man Of Letters."

"London Chapter," Alfred said. "I left for the States in 1971."

"I thought you worked for M16." Jason frowned, looking slightly disappointed.

"I did, briefly," Alfred reassured. There was a good few seconds of silence before Jason let out a sigh.

"Oh, thank god for that," he muttered, leaning against the counter. "That's one less person I have to tell."

They returned to cooking, Jason interrogating Alfred and Alfred happily answering.

About halfway through their meal, Tim walked in. Jason looked up and raised an eyebrow. The kid looked like hell.

His hair was an absolute mess to begin with - one side was almost completely flatten by the way he'd been sleeping and the other looked like he'd walked into a tornado. He also looked really tired, like really, _really_ tired. Jason had pulled all-nighters before. He'd gone days without sleeping before but he was sure he'd never looked _that_ tired. It may have been accentuated by how god-damned pale Tim was.

Jason honestly wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. He honestly couldn't say much because for months after he'd come back, Jason was literally ghost-white, a side-effect of death. After almost six years, his Hispanic heritage (the only god damned thing his father ever gave him, the bastard) was now much more prevalent. But Tim, holy crap. The boy looked like he had never seen the sun before.

"Hey, Alfred," Tim yawned, "Hey, Jason."

"Good afternoon, Master Tim," Alfred returned, seeming completely unfazed by Tim's overall appearance. Jason mumbled back a greeting.

Tim made his way over to the counter. "D'you want some?" He called over his shoulder, gesturing at the coffee pot.

"Uh, sure." Jason answered. "Black."

Tim made an approving noise and sat down beside them a couple of minutes later with two mugs. He set the smaller one down in front of Jason and began drinking from the much, much larger one. It was literally almost the size of Tim's head. Jason looked at it, slightly concerned.

Alfred glanced at the mug disapprovingly but returned to his food. Jason did the same.

The meal continued in relative peace.


	34. Everybody Gather 'Round

Jason's morning had gone terribly.

He had woken and, in his tired stupor, noticed a towering figure stood at the end of his bed in the darkness. The sight had startled him so much he had ended up smacking the back of his head off the headboard. He recoiled, gripping his head as he attempted to get out of the bed.

"Jason?" the figure asked. Jason's beating heart slowed at the familiar voice. Cas. _Goddammit_.  
"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Cas," he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm fine. You just scared me, s'all."

"My apologies, I just wanted to check in on you. Dean told me about what happened."

"Ah," Jason tutted. He loved Dean to pieces but _god_... did he worry sometimes. There was a moment of silence and Jason glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It had stopped at forty-something past five. "Cas, you wouldn't happen to know what time it is, would you?"

Cas looked down at his wristwatch. "Four-twenty-three."

Jason sighed, getting out of bed and flicking on the lamp beside him. "I'm probably not going back to sleep anytime soon. Do you want any food?"

There was no response.

"You're injured," Cas observed, staring at him. Jason remembered the bandages and the fact that his shirt kept riding up his back during the night so he had thrown it across the room in annoyance before going back to sleep.

"Yeah..." he said, looking around for his shirt on the floor. It was about a foot away from where Cas was standing. _Goddammit._

"Let me heal you," Cas said, beginning to walk towards him. Jason immediately clambered out of the other side of the bed.

"No!" He yelled. Cas stopped, slightly confused. Jason calmed down and waved his hand at Cas placatingly. "I just don't want to have to explain why my nose is suddenly unbroken."

Cas nodded in understanding. "Then at least let me heal your ribs."

"Sure," Jason replied. climbing back over the bed. He perched on the edge of the bed and begun to unwrap the bandages, throwing them onto the bedside cabinet with a flourish. "Have at it."

He winced when Cas's cold hands grazed over the stitches but was ultimately very relieved when the aching in his sides stopped. "Thanks," he said, smiling, getting up and patting Cas's shoulder. "I'm going to go get some food. You can stay if you want, I don't think anyone's awake yet."

Cas nodded. "I'd like that."

Jason waltzed into the kitchen, sliding across the floor in his socks. Cas shuffled in behind him. "Do you want anything?" Jason called over his shoulder.

"Uh, no," Cas replied, looking around the kitchen obviously completely stunned at the sheer size of it.

Jason shrugged, walking over to the counter. "Your loss."

He hummed quite happily along to a song that Dean would play in the car from time to time as he dug through the cupboards. Cas had, at some point, wandered over and was watching Jason cook.

After around thirty minutes, Jason walked over to the counter with a large plate in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He perched on it and began eating. "So," he began through a mouthful of bacon. "How's everything been since I left?"

"Quieter," Cas said, coming over. Jason shifted over to allow Cas to sit beside him. "Dean and Sam took some cases after you left. They were in Texas when you called - demons I think it was."

Jason hummed in response - he would have said something but he was currently halfway through a piece of toast. The realisation that it had been almost two months since he had seen any of his family had also kicked in and he was currently having a slight crisis.

"Jason?" Cas said, looking over at him. "Jason?"

He waved a hand in front of Jason's face and the glazed look in his eyes disappeared. Jason's head snapped up and he shook his head. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm still a little tired."

"I understand. It must be difficult having to deal with all-"

There was the sound of a plate smashing by where the door was. Jason looked up and very nearly dropped his own plate. Bruce was stood in the doorway, in full batsuit, eyes fixed on Cas, who was nervously glancing between Jason and Bruce.

Before Jason could even say anything, Bruce was already storming across the room towards Cas and there was this little _glint_ in his eye that had come to know all too well since he arrived here. He lurched forward and managed to drag Bruce to the floor. And they struggled for a while, but, Jason, having both two inches on Bruce and the advantage of not having broken ribs, managed to pin Bruce to the kitchen tiles.

Until Bruce managed to headbutt Jason. In the face, right in his nose, which was broken…

 **Ouch**.

Jason fell back, stunned, and Bruce lunged at Cas, who was still staring at them in bemusement. The seconds before they made contact seemed to happen in slow motion, and Jason looked up just in time to watch Bruce just kinda _bounce_ off Cas.

This had honestly completely destroyed whatever tension had been in the room, and Jason had immediately burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of the _dark_ _knight_ crumpling at Cas's feet. It almost distracted him from the agonising pain from his nose. He could also hear the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor. Apparently, at least from what Jason could see, the full contents of the cupboards had somehow been knocked onto the floor and Jason, himself, was laying in half a bag of flour and at least a dozen cracked eggs.

After a moment or two, Bruce had slowly risen to his feet and attempted to lunge at Cas again, luckily for Bruce, Dick and Barbara had sped into the kitchen and were already grabbing onto either of Bruce's arms and pulling him away. Tim offered his hand to Jason who stared at it for a moment before taking it. It honestly hadn't helped much because Jason very nearly pulled Tim over, but the gesture was still appreciated nonetheless.

Alfred was stood in the doorway, staring hopelessly at the complete and utter mess in _his_ kitchen. Damian was behind Alfred, clinging onto his coat-tail with one hand and rubbing his eyes with other. He had clearly been woken up by the commotion as he was still in his pyjamas, unlike the others, who were all fully clothed. Damian was also glaring at Jason, but Jason was almost certain at this point that this was a permanent expression.

Tim helped Jason over to the dining table before hurrying over to the fridge and retrieving an ice pack. Dick and Barbara were trying to placate Bruce, who was still struggling and yelling (which was honestly giving Jason a headache).

Alfred slowly managed to regain his composure and wandered over to Tim, who was trying to make sense of what was happening and Jason, who had his face buried in a bag of frozen peas. He jumped slightly when the butler sat down beside him and glanced up at Alfred. "I'm gonna have to tell them all, aren't I?" he muttered quietly. Alfred nodded sadly at him and he slammed his face back into the peas with a groan (partially because slamming his face down _really_ hurt his nose).

Bruce's screaming finally died down and Dick and Barbara cautiously removed their hands. Cas had vanished from the room the second that Dick and Barbara entered the room, and Jason really couldn't blame him for leaving. If anything, it would make explaining everything at least a little easier – since Bruce wouldn't be at Cas's throat. He may be a Jason's throat (again) but he wasn't going to think about that right now.

Dick came over to Jason and tapped his shoulder. "Explain."

Jason sighed. "Okay." He stood up and cleared his throat. "Everybody gather 'round. Listen up, there's something I need to get off my chest."

And he did.

 _But god, did he want the earth to just swallow him whole._


	35. This Wasn't That Bad

Surprisingly, everyone had taken to Jason's explanation of the supernatural reasonably well (Bruce was the only one who tried to attack him), and he'd managed to stumble through a basic crash course.

"So," Barbara began once Jason had finished his speech. "the vampires? They were why you came back?"

"Yeah." There was a general wave of nods. "I was finishing up when Bruce…"

He gestured quickly between himself and Bruce, and Bruce and Damian both tensed up. Dick cleared his throat, clearly sensing the tension.

"What about in the alleyway? B said something attacked you."

Jason sighed, deciding how much he wanted to say. "It was a werewolf. There's probably an entire pack that I need to find. It's the only reason I haven't taken off." There was a glimmer of hurt across Dick's face and Jason could have sworn he saw something on Bruce's. Barbara and Alfred nodded in a sad sort of understanding. Damian actually seemed disappointed that Jason _hadn't_ left. "And…"

"And?" Tim interrupted. Jason glanced at Tim before fixing his eyes on Bruce.

"Were you bit?" There was an unsure flicker in Bruce's eye that told Jason everything he needed to know. "And that's the other reason. I don't know whether Bruce was turned. I need to stick around until the next full moon to find out."

"What if he is?" Tim said. "What would you do then?"

"I don't know." Jason's voice was dark and empty. There was a moment of silence and everyone glanced nervously at Bruce.

Then the conversation turned to Cas. And, then everything went downhill again, very, very quickly. Dick and Alfred had actually accepted that Cas was an angel, although Dick was honestly just down for the ride at this point. Jason could have told him that there were bedazzled, ten-foot tall garden gnomes that lived underground and he'd probably accept it without any hesitation. Barbara, Tim and Damian had, very clearly, been sceptical (but at least none of _them_ had attacked him).

"Cas?" Jason called out, ignoring how completely insane he looked, yelling some random name into the air. He was still waiting for Bruce to try to cart him off to Arkham. "Cas? Can you please come back down?"

Jason glanced around in anticipation, before the comforting flutter of wings behind him. "Jason."

There was a slight tremor in Cas's usually monotonous voice. Everyone gaped at how Cas had just _appeared_ out of nowhere. Bruce looked like he was physically about to implode, Tim was the human equivalent of a computer lagging and everyone else just looked downright confused.

Dick was the first to snap out of his stupor and immediately strode over to them, climbing up onto the breakfast bar.

Jason had clambered up there to escape Bruce after another attempted attack, and, since he was too scared to come back down, spent the last twenty minutes stood on it, pacing back and forth, gesturing dramatically.

Cas stepped behind Jason and Dick held his hand out. Jason stared at him. _No…_

 _Some stranger appears in his kitchen and the first thing Dick Grayson does is try to befriend him. Of course._

"My name's Dick," he said with a grin. Jason cracked a smile when he felt Cas glance at him when Dick said his name.

"It's okay, Cas," he muttered, stepping to the side slightly.

Cautiously, Cas took Dick's hand and shook it slowly. Everyone watched the exchange intently and Jason was very much prepared to tackle Dick if he tried anything. They eventually parted and Cas whispered something into Jason's ear. Jason looked at him with a slightly concerned expression, but beckoned Dick over to him, muttering something to him. Tim managed to lip-read the words 'friends,' 'manor'… and 'bunker'?

Dick looked at Jason with same expression that Jason had given Cas and Jason looked back at Cas with a 'see? I told you' look. Cas stared back at Jason with same expression that he had given before and Jason let out a loud sigh, turning back to Dick with an eye roll.

Dick pondered over whatever it was that Jason had asked him and everyone could practically see the cogs turning in his head. There was something comically dramatic about the entire exchange, like a pantomime.

After a minute of two of solid glancing between Bruce and Jason, Dick gave an anti-climactic shrug. Jason, unlike everyone else, didn't seem too bothered by the lack of enthusiasm in Dick's response and hopped down from the counter, making his way over to Alfred and Tim.

He bent down and whispered something into Alfred's ear. There was a flicker of surprise in the butler's eyes before he whispered something back to Jason. Jason turned back to Cas and gave him a thumbs up and Cas disappeared.

Jason perched himself onto the dining table in a manner far too nonchalant for Tim's liking. Barbara let out a small chuckle. "Is this normal for you?"

"Pretty much."

Barbara nodded thoughtfully before moving onto the question that was honestly on everyone's mind. "What was…" she gestured between Dick and where Cas had been, "that all about?"

Jason pulled a face, glancing at Alfred and Dick for some kind of backup. Luckily for Jason, Alfred spoke up. "Master Jason was requesting that he brought some of his… friends?" Alfred looked at for confirmation and Jason nodded curtly. "To the manor."

A silence settled over the room, like a thick layer of dust. Then…

"Do you hear that?"

Everyone immediately began listening for something, and, boy, was there something. A very low, very loud… barking?

Jason was up like a shot, and was out the door before anyone could even comprehend what was happening. When everyone finally came to their senses and followed him, Jason was sprinting down the hallway, full speed with heavy, thundering footsteps, to a large German Shepard, who was bounding towards Jason.

It was rather reminiscent of those scenes from old romance movies where the two love interests would run in slow-motion to one another across a flowery field. Tim could practically hear the cliché piano music.

The dog leapt into Jason's arms and he was basically swept off his feet. Tim imagined the piano music coming to a screeching halt, complete with record scratching.

He groaned and Tim had to stop himself from bursting into laughter at the sight of Jason lying flat on his back, completely limp (looking very much like a dead body). And the dog, being both literally the same size as Jason – if not larger – and stood on Jason's chest, staring down at him concernedly, did little to help Tim keep his composure.

"TC," Jason muttered, staring his dog dead _(lol)_ in the eye. "Do not even think abo-"

The dog licked a huge stripe up Jason's face, leaving a large glob of saliva in Jason's hair. His expression turned from pure joy to abject disgust (he was still very, very happy to see his best friend, he just… didn't particularly like the taste of _dog saliva_ ). Tim could no longer keep back his laughter and, fortunately, he could hear Barbara and Dick laughing over the sound of his own roars.

"TC!" Came a faint shout. Tim, Dick and Barbara's laughter faded.

Both Jason and the TC's heads simultaneously perked up at the sound. The dog barked loudly, and the noise was followed shortly by the clumsy thundering of footsteps and more shouting.

The footsteps grew louder and louder until eventually a woman with bright red hair stumbled around the corner, then an Asian man, and then Cas. Jason pushed himself to his feet and ran over. "Charlie! Kevin!"

The excited tone in Jason's voice tugged at Dick's heartstrings. _So, this is it,_ he thought. _So this is his family._

Alfred, at some point during all the commotion, had strolled across the hallway without anyone noticing. Once Jason had put Charlie down, and stopped acting like a six-year-old at the zoo (well, _less_ like a six-year-old at the zoo), Alfred gave a polite nod and held his hand out. Charlie stared at him, eyes wide, and looking very much like Jason had. "You must be Alfred. I'm Charlie," she said, shaking his hand and grinning at him. "Jason's told us all about you."

There was a small flicker of something across the man's face and he turned to Kevin, who stammered slightly. "Uh, Kevin," he said, with a short nod, before quickly adding, "sir."

Alfred returned the gesture politely, yet again, offering his hand out. Kevin took it hesitantly.

Everyone else had rambled over and were standing very awkwardly behind Jason and Alfred. Dick and Barbara were eyeing Bruce concernedly and Dick looked like he was ready to grab him. Bruce seemed… _calm_?

Something was definitely wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Like 'hell has frozen over and the apocalypse has begun' wrong.

There was a good few minutes of terse silence and everyone glanced nervously between Bruce and Kevin and Charlie. Even Cas seemed uncomfortable.

Very, very surprisingly, it was Bruce who made the first move, pushing past the group and holding his hand out with his 'Bruce Wayne' smile (which was _really_ unnerving in the Batsuit). "Bruce Wayne," he said. Jason eyed him carefully and was more than prepared to strike if he so much as thought about hurting either of them. Charlie was clearly suspicious (and rightly so) but took his hand, nonetheless.

"Uh, Charlie," she returned, quickly pulling her hand back. Bruce turned to Kevin and did the same.

Yet again, there was a moment or two of _really, really_ uncomfortable silence before Alfred spoke up. "How about Master Jason show the two of you around?" he said, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I'm sure that everyone else is exhausted from their 'late-night activities' as it were."

"Yeah, sure. That sounds great."

Alfred immediately moved to usher them all out of the corridor, and Jason followed after them, glancing over his shoulder at Bruce.

"What was that all about?" Dick asked, nudging Bruce as they walked back down to the Batcave.

"DNA," he muttered, tugging off his glove and pocketing it. Dick rolled his eyes. _Of course._

/

"So, who was all that?" Kevin whispered.

"What, like names? Or…" Jason said, frowning. "Well, you know Bruce and Alfie, of course. The one in the black and blue is Dick, and yes, that is his actual name, stop looking at me like that Charlie. Barbara's the one with the red hair. The short, angry looking one is Damian. And the other one's Tim."

Charlie and Kevin glanced at each other at the mention of Tim's name and the pseudo-dismissive way that Jason had said it.


	36. Tim Drake

It was midnight. Tim had been in the Batcave since 9 that morning. He had been helping Bruce with all the DNA tests (as he had with Jason's a couple of nights before), but Bruce had gone off on patrol hours ago so now he was alone. Again.

Everybody seemed to have a habit of forgetting Tim. His parents certainly had no issues with leaving their only son alone in that huge mansion that seemed far too big for three people. Sure, there were all the maids and the cook and the butler and his nanny, but they didn't _live_ there. That was something that his parents had always made crystal clear, they were merely the servants, the workers, the _help_.

Not part of the family, no matter how much the scullery maid helped him with his homework when his parents were off on some 'business' trip; or how much his nanny ruffled his hair and played catch with him in the gardens when his father was in his office 'too busy for such uncultured activities'; or how many times the cook slipped his favourite dessert into his room after he'd argued with his parents about going to a real school, with children his own age, and not having some stuffy history tutor who was probably old enough to have seen the pyramids being built and who rapped Tim's knuckles with a wooden ruler when he got a date wrong.

These people were not Tim's family for one very simple reason: they were not Drakes – or rather, they weren't 'worthy' of being Drakes. Family was your blood and nothing else. _No amount of mollycoddling or trivial sentiment will ever change that, boy_ , his father had said after firing another one of his nannies. She had been 'getting to close' to Tim, as his mother had put it. So, she had to go, lest their son be exposed to some kind of affection.

No, if Tim wasn't going to get any love from his parents, he sure as hell wasn't going to get it from anyone else. He wasn't even sure his parents remembered his name – well, his father at least.

There were too many occasions where his parents would drag him to some kind of pompous event and his mother's nails would dig into his shoulder through his suit as his father bragged about how 'bright the young lad was' (which was honestly the closest thing to affection either of them had ever shown him and even this was forced at best and completely fake at worst). Then his father would call him ' Harry' or 'James' or 'Brad' and his mother's grip on him would tighten so much that it would leave marks the next morning and she'd hiss Tim's name under her breath and his father would say, _oh yes, dear! My mistake, my boy_ , and ruffle his hair, heavy-handedly, _it must be the champagne_.

Then his parents and their friends would let out the same _fake_ laugh that they always did, and Tim would feel the same sinking in his chest that _he_ always did, but he wouldn't let his smile falter, because he was a _good son_.

 _People like us do not have time for such weakness,_ a sharp voice, which sounded awfully like his mother's, would repeat in his head. So, he would bottle it all up, keep up that façade of perfection and happiness that his parents insisted on broadcasting to anyone and anything that would listen, nod and do all the things that sons were supposed to do and ignore the pricking of tears in his eyes.

Until he got home.

He would hand his jacket to the butler ( _do not thank him, Timothy, it is his job_ ), and go up to his room and change into the clothes that one of the maids had placed out for him, all the while feeling desperately numb and completely hollow. His mother would come up to his bedroom at 9 PM sharp to tuck him in and Tim would ignore the smell of wine and cigarettes on her breath as she kissed him goodnight, and then she would leave and Tim would lay in the darkness as the feeling returned to his body, making him feel even emptier.

Sometimes, he would lie there and listen to his parents arguing, as they did, every night, in the living room – always about him. Sometimes, he would wonder if his parents would be better off without him. Sometimes, he couldn't hear them at all, their voices not quite carrying through the solid brick or perhaps they were away, arguing in some hotel room in Beijing or Belarus or wherever it was that they had left him for. These were the worst nights.

He had nothing to distract him, to lull him off to sleep, and he'd spend the night repeating _everything_ in his head, over and over and over, until one of the maids came in to wake him, 7 sharp. "Good morning, Master Drake," they would say. If it was of the younger ones, he might even be called Tim.

They would place his clothes on his bedside table and their eyes would dart up to his, bloodshot and red, but they would never remain there for long. Maybe, they would ask if everything was okay, knowing full well that he would – could – only ever say 'yes,' but it would soothe their conscience.

Breakfast would be quiet, as always. The only noises the gentle scraping of silver cutlery on fine china and the occasional flicking of the pages of his father's newspaper. Neither of them would acknowledge his presence as he came in through the door and at most, maybe his mother's eyes would flicker up at him if he sat down too heavily. His father would finish his coffee shortly after and he would get up to leave, Tim and his mother following dutifully after.

At the door, the butler would hand his father his coat and he would kiss Tim's mother on the cheek, and maybe Tim would get a pat on the shoulder if his father had his coffee Irish that morning.

Breakfast would resume, then Tim would spend the next couple of hours in his room, and his mother would come up at 10 to tell him that his tutor was here and how he 'spends too much time glued to that screen of yours' (to which he would think that maybe, if his mother allowed him to have friends his own age, maybe he wouldn't). His lessons would drag by, his focus being drawn by anything and everything else, only to be brought back by his tutor slamming his hand down on the desk.

The butler brought him lunch at 12 and he'd usually eat as slowly as he possibly could, finishing at around 1, and then it was back to the tortures of trigonometry or Shakespeare or the Egyptians or whatever else his tutor wanted to drone at him about. He didn't care anyway; the man clearly had no idea what he was doing and it gave Tim something to distract himself with until 6.

Dinner would be served in the same terse silence, and then Tim would return to the sanctuary of his room. A pretty boring day, huh?

Try going through that, six days a week every week for your entire life. It was _murder._

The galas and charity balls were actually the highlights of Tim's week because at least he had the chance to interact with children his _own_ age. _Well…_

The children of his parents' friends.

Some of them were actually okay, y'know, not completely and utterly insufferable. His parents had also tried their damnedest to cosy up to Bruce Wayne (because of course they did, Bruce Wayne was the richest man in Gotham, they'd be stupid not to), who was a genuinely nice human being (a rarer occurrence than you'd expect in places like these).

In Tim's younger years, he'd spent a fair amount of time at galas with both Bruce and Dick Grayson (despite the boy's more than humble beginnings, his parents had insisted that Tim spend as much time as possible getting into the boy's good books). Dick had been kind to him, the fourteen-year-old allowing a six-year-old Tim to trail around behind him. It was nice enough, if slightly awkward (there being a pretty sizable age gap) and Dick actually _remembered_ Tim's name.

Tim finally had something close to a friend, sure Dick couldn't be at _every_ gala Tim was at, but Tim appreciated the company, someone to steal entrees with.

Then, that Robin had flown the nest and Tim was alone, again. He'd sulked very dramatically in his room when Dick had told him that he wouldn't be seeing Dick at any more galas and that he was moving to Bludhaven.

Although, this was short-lived when he'd found out the reason why, Bruce had adopted another kid, and this one was closer to Tim's own age!

Jason Todd.

Tim may or may not have spent a great deal of time 'researching' (stalking) Jason and he was really excited, if somewhat nervous, to meet him. Jason was a Crime Alley kid, born and raised, which Tim had found endlessly fascinating, having never been exposed to anyone not in his own social class (excluding Dick).

He was hoping that Jason would tell him about what it was like growing up in the East Side of Gotham, since Tim had never actually been there, and since Dick seemed more than happy to tell Tim a million and one things about growing up in the circus.

But Tim had never gotten to meet Jason. His parents had strictly forbidden that Tim be 'exposed' to Jason. Even at the cost of not being able to suck up to the illustrious Bruce Wayne (they still did, just when Jason wasn't there).

Jason seemed exactly the sort of person that Tim could have been friends with. Admittedly, at first, Jason had seemed a little rough around the edges, glaring at anyone and anything that got too close. Tim couldn't really blame Jason for being hostile– the galas, at best, were probably unbelievably overwhelming and tiring, and, at worst, really, _really_ insulting. Especially if you considered Jason's background.

Jason, from the age of seven (if Tim remembered correctly), had literally lived on the streets and had probably never had a decent meal in his entire life. Despite being two years older than Tim, Jason was _tiny_ (4 feet tall and like _maybe_ 40 pounds tiny) _._ It was honestly impressive how such a small child could look so intimidating, though Tim suspected that it was just a Crime Alley thing.

He'd had to fight for things that Tim, and everyone else in that damned room, could never imagine living without. Jason had seen things that no child ever have to see – people starving, struggling, _suffering_.

Whilst Jason's friends and family had been on the brink of starvation, these people were _here_ , holding lavish parties in ballrooms with crystal chandeliers in mansions that were far bigger than anyone could possibly ever justify, with more food than any of them could ever possibly eat.

The thought of this must have been _infuriating_ to Jason.

None of them cared, or at least none of them cared enough to _really_ do something (even _Bruce Wayne_ , the ever-so-generous Bruce Wayne, didn't really give much attention nor money to poverty charities until after he adopted Jason. Although, in the man's defence, he did and still did give _heavily_ ). Maybe it was ignorance, they didn't _really know_ what it was like, but, and this was more than likely the case, they just didn't want to really know. Why worry about someone else's miserable existence when you can afford a yacht, right?

No wonder Jason looked so angry all the time. They were all lucky that he hadn't done more than glare at them and mutter under his breath. Tim was sure that, if he had been in Jason's position, he wouldn't have been able to maintain the self-control needed to _only_ bruise egos for the amount of time that Jason had.

Tim had admired Jason _immensely_.

From what he'd overheard from the kids that went to Gotham Academy, Jason was _smart_ – like crazy smart. He held top grades in every class, despite being _at least_ two years behind everyone else, which pissed them all off to no end (Tim found this unbelievably funny, not that he'd ever say that to them). The sheer amount of work ethic and determination that must have gone into it was something that Tim coveted.

There was also a resilience to Jason that Tim envied. He'd heard all the comments that had been made about Jason, both by other children and _adults,_ and he was sure that Jason had as well. They were cruel and spiteful, and some were just downright _sadistic,_ but none of it ever seemed to affect him. Gala after gala, charity ball after charity ball, and that same _genuine_ boyish grin would be spread across his face.

And, after he'd become more comfortable in his new arrangement, Jason also just seemed like a genuinely nice person to be around. There had been several occasions, too many to count, where Tim would look across the ballroom to see Bruce Wayne doubled over with shoulder shaking laughter, with a hand clasping Jason's shoulder, as the boy grinned. It never failed to make Tim smile, but it also left this empty feeling in his chest.

 _Then_ Tim had found out that Jason was Robin and his little fanboy heart was just about fit to burst. The boy he admired was _also_ a crime-fighting vigilante.

Tim had learned so much more about Jason through how he acted as Robin than he'd expected. The second Robin was, much like Jason, rough around the edges and so, _so_ different to how Dick had been. Jason was more aggressive and more independent from the get-go – he was more like Bruce than Dick. The puns and one-liners had morphed into sharp insults and snarky comments, still light-hearted but a different kind of humour.

Even their fighting styles were different. Dick was somersaults and judo throws, the sound of a body hitting a wall – rarely any offensive tactics, at least not yet. But Jason, Jason was _all_ offence. Jason was tackles and bare-knuckled punches, the sound of bones breaking. Dick was graceful, Jason was _quick_ ; Dick smiled and laughed, Jason snarled and grin, teeth bloody; Dick was an acrobat, Jason was a brawler.

Despite the brutality of the newest Robin, the people of Gotham adored him as much, if not more, than they had the first. There was a compassion in this Robin, a _goodness_ to him, that they couldn't help but fall in love with. Jason sat with the victims whilst Bruce stalked the crime scene, he was good with them, patient, kind, _understanding_.

And maybe it was because Jason _did_ understand them. He knew what it was like.

All too well.

When he died, Gotham mourned. More people than Tim had ever seen turned up to his memorial, the entire city stood still, felt the loss of a child.

None more than Bruce.

There was a change in Bruce, he'd become more aggressive, more brutal.

Everyone noticed it.

Criminals would be thrown into cells with broken bones where there may have once been sprains. Nobody said anything, not Gordon or Barbara or even Dick. Maybe, they agreed with him. After all, these were people who stole and raped and killed, who would torment a good man and paralyse his daughter, who would kidnap and torture and _murder_ a fourteen-year-old boy. And maybe they deserved it.

But Bruce got worse, he was more impulsive and more violent than he had ever been and it was all because Robin had been taken away from him - _because Jason had been taken from him._

Tim wanted to help, he wanted to give Bruce back his Robin. At first, he tried to convince Dick to take up the mantle of Robin again, but he'd refused.

So, Tim did something stupid, Tim did something that was so illogical and _dumb…_ and it worked.

He'd given Batman a Robin. Sure, it wasn't Jason, _god_ how he wished it could be, but it had worked. And if Bruce still stared at Jason's costume in the Batcave, then so be it. At least he was still Batman.

But Tim would be lying if he didn't feel like he had enormously large shoes to fill, but he'd done his best and that had been good enough (it had been more than enough, but Tim would never let himself believe that).

He'd heard Bruce and Barbara and Alfred and _everyone else_ (even Dick) sing Jason's praises and Tim just couldn't help but feel like Jason was just made to be Robin and that _maybe_ he wasn't. Those were the days where he wondered how Dick and Jason had managed it and where he'd prayed for Jason come back so that he didn't have to do this anymore.

Then he had.

By some miracle, Jason had stumbled through those manor doors, _alive_.

And Jason had been everything that Tim had expected and so much more.

 _Yeah, Tim and Jason would have been great friends_ and maybe they still could be.


	37. The Start Of Something

Jason was not having a good morning (night? It was three AM and he didn't really care anymore). All he'd wanted was some time alone. He deserved that, right? It had been a few days since he'd arrived in the manor and he was already _done_.

Bruce had attacked him several times. He'd been mauled by a werewolf. Dick kept trying to corner him and Jason was sure that he was going to try to force out some kind of explanation. He'd had to go through the torture of having to explain the supernatural _twice_. Charlie, Kevin and Cas were now here and, although he loved them all to death, it added to the ever-growing list of things he was going to have to explain. He longed for the Bunker – Gotham was cold and dark and miserable and just made him even more homesick.

He was stressed and hungover and _tired._ He wanted some peace and a pack of cigarettes. That was it.

But, apparently, he hadn't suffered enough for Fate's liking. Cas had gone to talk to Talia an hour or so after Charlie and Kevin had arrived and the two of them had gone to sleep _hours_ ago, but clearly, no one else had. Since Jason hadn't been able to find an unlocked and _empty_ room. Emphasis on _empty._

Charlie had insisted on staying in Jason's room, which he honestly didn't really mind, but it meant that he had to go somewhere else.

Bruce was in the library, and Jason would rather die (again) than go in there – he'd also refused to let Jason into the Batcave and Jason didn't particularly want to be beaten up again.

Dick was in the kitchen, doing god-knows what to Alfie's poor waffle maker, and Jason was also trying to avoid Dick, so he couldn't go in there.

Barbara was in the living room, going through cases. Jason actually went in there and sat with her for a while. She didn't say anything when he came in, but she started reading the case files aloud when he sat next to her. He left after an hour or so – to leave her to work in peace.

After doing some more wandering, he found Damian in the middle of the ballroom, playing the violin. He was actually really good.

He looked up when Jason walked in, scowling slightly, but never said anything nor ever stopped playing. Jason sat by the door and listened. Damian only occasionally glanced up at Jason, who would flash a small smile at him. Jason left after he felt that he was overstaying his welcome and he wandered through the corridors, lit cigarette in mouth. Until Alfred told him not to smoke in the manor.

He was on the roof now.

It was cold and wet, but he could see the stars, and _god_ , he couldn't remember the last time he'd _really_ looked at them.

He used to come up here all the time when he was younger - after patrols, when he was too pumped up on his own adrenaline to sleep. He was almost certain that both Bruce and Alfred knew when he was up here, but neither ever mentioned it to him.

Wayne Manor was eight stories tall, plus the attic (and the Batcave) and from up here, he could just see the tops of the skyscrapers in the centre of Gotham. It was peaceful and it gave him somewhere to go and think about whatever it was that thirteen-year-old Jason Todd thought about. Shakespeare, probably.

Sometimes, he'd stay there long enough to see the sunrise over the skyline, bathing all of Gotham in a golden light. And, for once, the city looked beautiful, pure even.

Maybe he'd be able to see it this time.

He shifted, tensing as he felt the tiles move slightly beneath him. It was raining, lighter than it had been before, but still heavily enough for him to be covered in a fine mist. He also wished that he'd had enough sense to bring his jacket up with him, but, _alas_ , he was too stubborn to bring it then and he was too stubborn to do so now.

"Hey, Tim," Dick said, stepping out of the elevator.

"Hey, Dick," he replied, glancing back. "What's up?"

"You wouldn't be able to check the security feeds, would you?" he said. "Jason's kinda gone missing."

Tim pulled up the feeds on the monitor. "Maybe he's avoiding you," Tim muttered, smiling when Dick, always the drama queen, gasped daintily.

"What? Why would he be avoiding me?" Dick said, only half-jokingly.

"You've pretty much been following him around like a lost puppy since he got here."

"Yeah, because Bruce told me to keep an eye on him."

"I think Bruce meant discretely. You've basically been stalking him," Tim laughed, flicking through each camera. "Got him. He's on the roof."

Jason was sat by the chimney with what looked to be a cigarette in his hand. Dick went to leave, but Tim stopped him. "Maybe, I should go talk to him."

"Yeah, that's- that's probably a good idea. I don't think he'd be too happy to see me," Dick said with a smile that faltered slightly and he sighed. "I just want to be a good brother, Tim. I messed up with him last time. I pushed him away because I was angry and upset."

Dick started pacing and Tim sat back down. This was important. For Dick, at least.

"I didn't think of him as my brother – I didn't even _try_ to get to know him. Then he died, and everyone started talking about how _bright_ and _sweet_ and _funny_ he was. Jason- Jason was great kid and _I_ took my frustration with Bruce out on him. I said things to him, _about him,_ that he didn't deserve," he continued. "I mean, sure, he said and did _plenty_ of things back, but he was a _kid_ and he'd been through things that no kid should ever have to go through. He was homeless, Tim. He was homeless for _two_ years. Did you know that?"

Tim nodded. He did – he'd read Jason's file countless times.

"I know that- I watched my parents die, Tim, but I knew that they loved me and I _never_ went without a roof over my head and food on the table, even after they… I've seen Gotham, Tim, and I can't even describe how bad it is out there. It's _ugly_ and _cruel_ and I can't imagine what it would be like, having to live on the _streets_ , alone. But Jason- Jason doesn't have to imagine." Dick threw his hands up into the air. "I should have been there for him, Tim. He should have been able to talk to me about all of _that_. Who else was going to emotionally support him? _Bruce_? I left him, Tim. I left him to deal with all this. Sometimes I think that if I had been there for him, he might have told me about Sheila and I could have…"

Dick went silent, his hands and breath shaky.

"I-" There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes. "I don't think that I've ever regretted anything more. I just want to make it up to him."

"And you will. In time." Tim rested his hand on Dick's shoulder. "You're a great brother, Dick. But, you can come on a little… _strong_ sometimes and Jason just isn't used to seeing that side of you yet. Just give him some time and some space."

"But he doesn't want-"

"He does want you around," Tim said. Dick looked at him. "He hasn't told you to go screw yourself yet, and Jason clearly isn't afraid to say what he thinks."

Dick laughed weakly. "Yeah, Jason always had a way with words."

Both of them thought back to yesterday morning, when Bruce had lunged at Jason who, out of either fear or shock or perhaps both, called Bruce a 'big, dumb furry. He then continued his little speech from atop the kitchen counter, despite Alfred's protests.

They grinned. "Thanks, Tim."

Jason stubbed out his cigarette on one of the rooftiles. He heard the window creek open behind him, but ignored it. He stuck another one in his mouth and lit it bitterly. _Goddammit._ Dick had found him.

"Those'll kill you, you know." That… wasn't Dick. That… that was Tim. Jason wasn't quite sure he was happy about that. Relieved? Slightly. Happy? Okay, maybe a little.

From what Jason managed to pluck from his drunken memory of that one night he'd actually talked to Tim, he was alright – insightful, a little quiet maybe, but that was honestly what Jason needed right now. He was also debating whether he should mention how _cliché_ that line was and he was leaning towards 'yes,' but subtly. _Suavely._

"Oh, is that right, Shakespeare?" Jason Subtle Peter Todd.

Luckily, Tim laughed quietly, unoffended, and clambered up the rooftop. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Jason thought and, for a moment, Tim thought he was going say no and he was honestly more relieved than he'd like to admit when Jason shrugged. "Eh, why not? Brooding was never really my thing, anyhow."

Tim slowly (and _very, very gracefully_ , thank you very much) sat down and he definitely did _not_ squeak and grab Jason's shoulder when he slipped on a wet tile. Jason held Tim's arm and helped him, grinning and laughing under his breath as he did.

"Smooth. Very smooth," he said once Tim finally sat down.

"Yeah, well, it's wet and _cold._ ," Tim muttered, staring at Jason, in his rain-soaked t-shirt and jeans with his hair slicked with water. "How are you not cold? I've been up here for two minutes and I feel like I'm to develop hypothermia."

"Eh, it's not that bad," Jason mumbled, knowing full well that this was one of the _biggest_ lies that he had ever told. He was _freezing_ , and his fingers and toes had gone numb an hour ago.

Tim also did not seem convinced of this, pressing the back of his hand to Jason's face and almost immediately recoiling in disgust. "You're _so_ cold – how are you actually not dead?"

Jason swatted away Tim's hand. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Tim said. "You're like _dead body_ cold. It's not natural."

"That's not an entirely inaccurate statement."

Tim's face went blank for a moment. _You're an idiot, Tim,_ he thought. _Jason was DEAD. He probably doesn't want you reminding him._

His mind continued to collapse into the downward spiral of thinking that his hero was going to hate him and how he had essentially destroyed any chance of friendship. "Oh my god," he blurted out. "I am so sorry. I should have-"

Jason held up his hand up and Tim stopped, biting his lip and waiting for Jason to tell him to go. "It's okay." Tim's expression wasn't unlike a fish being held out of water. "My death isn't really a sensitive topic," Jason took a deep breath, "well, the fact that I _was_ dead isn't, anyway. Death's not that bad, really."

Tim stared at him. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, "dying sucks _ass_ , but being dead isn't all that bad. It's kind of nice, actually."

"Do you…" Tim began, his hands shaking slightly. Was this going to be _too_ intrusive? "Do you miss it? Being dead?"

Jason's smile faded and Tim's heart sank. For a moment, Jason sat there, wringing his hands together, his expression pensive. "I did," he mumbled, frowning slightly. "But I don't anymore."

There was a certainty in Jason's voice that Tim was sure wasn't for him.


End file.
